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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Have You Not Heard the Stories?
His head fell back against his chair, allowing the soothing potion to rush through his body, causing him to feel numb, surreal. He felt the five draughts of the heavy, syrupy ale rush through his system. He grimaced as placed the half-empty pewter mug, his fifth, down on the table, sloshing some of the liquid. With an almost absurd curiosity he raised his hand to his face, noted its minute trembling and then barked a soft, unassuming laugh. His eyes slipped closed.
His friend had become next to useless a pint ago, and even his own near-legendary tolerance for liquor had not been enough. He ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips. It never was enough. His eyes snapped open with surprisingly clarity, as if he realised that he was most likely making a fool of himself. He sighed.
“With all due respect’, he murmured slowly, “ I believe I have to take myself out of the running.”
If you had been allowed a snap-shot view of him you might’ve been stuck by the pale grayscale quality of his lithe slender body, tall, elegant-- the pale shifting grays that toned his flesh and the hollows and shadows that fell naturally over him. His hair floated over his pale, handsome face, a deep moonless black for how dark it was, how dark he was, but for a single streak of white, a single white lock that curved over his brow. He seemed oddly penciled in.
Ben rose precariously to his feet and slapped down a few extra coins on the table. His eyes roved over the party, lingering for a few extra seconds on the half-elf bard. Even in his state, his gaze was sharp, calculating, wise with three thousand years of evolutionary precision. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment”, he inquired to Evani. A few drunkards looked up in sudden interest. “Its not what you think”, he retorted sarcastically.
He turned back to her, amused.
“After all…I don’t frighten you, do I?”
There was no hint of lust, of anything that was beyond complete candor. It was almost as if he had been playing at drunkenness when, as always, his mind was churning at full speed. He smiled.
“ Uich gwennen na 'wanath ah na dhín.
An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen.”.
“You are not bound to loss and silence.
For you are not bound to the circles of this world.”
For a faint, almost terrifying moment he spoke a soft phrase in Elvish, the tongue of her ancestors, before her line was tainted by human blood. “Yes, I speak your language”, he whispered. “And no, you do not fool me. I believe we have more in common then was previously thought. “ He spoke with authority and clarity. His voice mingled, coloured like the conflagration of a sunset, dark as the sea.
A deep sadness overwhelmed him then and he placed his hand lightly on her slight shoulder. Beyond the calm precision, there was a regal fierceness, wildness in his gaze, a woodland creature’s eyes.
“You have no idea who I am”, he mused, “but I do believe I know who you are”.
He tilted his head to her. “Orphan”.
Posted on 2008-03-25 at 20:18:31.
Edited on 2008-03-25 at 20:30:53 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Fox-hunt
Scrabbling nails dug into the soft peat. Maws gaped, dripping saliva. Chilled black nostrils sniffed as the powerfully built curs rushed forward, half-choked by thick, leather leashes. Rain poured down in heady torrents , spotting evenly their ragged, grey-brown pelts. A heavy, hoarse breathing issued from their throats as they dipped their scarred muzzles to the tracks embedded in the crumbling dirt. One of the animals skidded in its tracks, whining eagerly. It paced before its masters, and barked sharply, excitedly. The scent was not like the other scents of the old ones it hunted, faint and lemony. This scent trail was new, and vital, matching the emerald-green bittersweet scent on the patch of dark cloth its masters gave to it.
It pulled on its leash and howled, baring long sharp fangs.
The hunt had just begun.
********
“You…are weak”, the rogue murmured. He gazed into the fire, watching the burning conflagration twist and writhe like a living thing. His eyed reflected cool flame. “I know that I frighten you”, he started softly. “Do not bother making up an elaborate lie about how I do not. I terrified you, and yet you came back to apologise to me, as if you had done something wrong”. He closed his eyes. “You are the only friend I have ever had, Shaben, and I love you like a brother, but as long as you stand by me, you will never be safe. “
“This is not who I am”, he whispered bitterly. “And I refuse to run anymore”.
He smiled faintly. “Anything, everything, even to my very life to be a legend again”, he muttered. “To be at the helm again, to hear the old stories. But there is no turning back Shaben, not now. The legends have all been slaughtered. I am next.”
He turned to the others, his voice low. “I myself, have every intention of getting completely drunk, to forget as much as anything”. He called over the barkeep and took from his deerskin pouch an array of glistening coins. “Your best ale for every man jack here, and the ladies, and damn the cost”. When the alcohol arrived in their pewter mugs, he lost no time in distributing them to the entire party. Last, he handed the intriguing half-elf bard her drink, raised his own, and toasted her. His jade eyes shimmered with something that was indefinable, almost mirth and nearly danger. “My friends”, he mused, taking a deep draught from his own mug.
“To the wind that blows, the ship that goes, and the lass that loves a sailor”.
Posted on 2008-03-22 at 18:51:05.
Edited on 2008-03-22 at 18:58:19 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lines in the Sand: The Prologue
Subject: The Beginning
The sky was on fire.
There was blood raining from the sky.
The man in black turns away from the cry of the shore and stands alone upon the brink of the world.
The sea-spray lashes his face with unparalleled viciousness, as the waves clamor against the keel. He gazes into the sunset, dark hair plastered against his pale brow, jade eyes slitted against the dying sun. It would be dark soon, he knew, and the callous eyes of stars would be their only companions through the dark and unfeeling night. The horizon is stained crimson now, and he watches the world-weary sun spill its last fire over the receiving waves.
It is far from there, far from the fair-lands and the forgotten shore, measured in miles where the mere stands. The pale sun burns away the evening chill and the clinging damp mist, revealing a gigantic silent world of morose twilight. Amid the screams of the dying, he stands and watches the stars come out.
The last, he turns and gazes on a sea-bound battle-field, roiling with blood, seething with gore. His blood, rich and dark, dots the wood, blood as dark as his deep-set eyes. His mind fills with white magic, walking in the ways of exile, the warring of the waves. He collapses among the dying, with the hot copper scent of his own blood in his nostrils, breathing heavily, as the world breaths and sooths him, wrapping him in tendrils of shadow. The waves, salt-heavy, heady with poison wash over him, choke him tenderly, and he knows its scent, like a old friend, like a lover.
He closes his eyes and sleeps.
***********************************
The night was slowly starting to shrink. The vastness of the dark was beginning to constrict everything about it. What once was large and impenetrable was now small and broken. The body of a youth was being borne upon the shoulders of men. Whispers grew and spread like an unspeakable flower blossoming from a dark seed. Darkness oozed out from between buildings, through the tangled maze of the streets, from behind the great fantastic and unstirring silence; the darkness, mysterious and invincible, incurable; the darkness scented and poisonous.
There was also death mingled within, or coming death at least , a scent like scant, soft earth and sweet old blood. There was no name for the youth that was brought into the relative warmth of the tavern that morning, no name. His face was still a child’s face, noble and beautiful despite the pain and death that crept into the corners of his mouth and eyes, shadowing the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes were closed, dark, lush lashes curling upon the pure whiteness of his cheek, his body curled, his coral lips parted. They could feel his blood, hot and vital, painting his ivory peasant shirt a sinister red. The slanting beams of light brushed him with a fiery glow, throwing his slender and distorted shadow far from his prone body.
One of the men that brought him drew a slender coastal sword, and struck, cutting not flesh but bloodstained cloth, pulling the hindering fabric away from the wounds. They were grievous. Two bullet wounds bled trails of crimson, narrowing missing the heart. The youth groaned as one of the men brushed the wound, exposing his pale chest. His eyes snapped open, feverish and half-mad with pain.
“What did he do to them”, he whispered through numbed lips. He grabbed for the man’s hand and held it, his nails digging into the man’s skin. “What did he do to my family?” He coughed suddenly, explosively, and released the man’s hand, and when he looked up again there was bright scarlet on his lips.
“Your family”, the man replied quietly, “is dead”.
Posted on 2008-03-21 at 17:25:11.
Edited on 2008-03-21 at 21:20:06 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lines in the Sand: The Prologue
Subject: Lines in the Sand: The Prologue
OOC: This thread is for cdnflirt and myself only. No joiners, please.
Posted on 2008-03-21 at 16:12:29.
Edited on 2008-03-21 at 16:12:45 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: A Decision
He was weak.
Desperately, despairingly, weak. He knew this very well. And no amount of bravado, of intimidation, or feints and pretending would change that fact. With a sigh, he tugged off the disguise ring and felt a wave of relief as his identity returned. His muscular build became rail-thin, familiar scars and scrapes appeared. Like a creeping mist, his mild blue eyes shifted into a golden-green hue, and his sandy blonde hair turned an utter black. He was himself again. Seeing that his authoritative manner had no effect on her, he dropped his gaze. His shirt was still half-open, now baring the two dark bullet wounds and various old scars that criss-crossed his pale chest. Nimbly, he buttoned his shirt, that dark blush still creeping, unwelcome over his high cheekbones.
“I am not weak”, he murmured, outraged at the idea. But he was. He glanced at her, shocked at her bluntness, and felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. As she moved into his space, he instinctively moved back, but was unable to evade her. “I will not be left behind”, he told her firmly, meeting her gaze. To be left behind was death. To be left behind meant that he would be all too easily found, that all his trickery would mean nothing. Fear glinted in his eyes. “No matter what”, he whispered.
“I intend to stay with you”.
He took the tray of food into his hands and in spite of himself his stomach knotted in hunger. Hardly believing his good fortune and yet secretly resenting it, he moved over to one of the richly decorated chairs and sat down, relishing the warmth of the fire on his face. He was safe. He deserved rest, didn’t they all? Keeping a wary eye on her, he began to eat.
Although his stubbornness and his pride despised the food, his hungry, abused body welcomed it. When he was finished, he placed the tray neatly next to his chair. He stood to his feet shakily and faced her. “You have my answer”, he said softly. “There is no longer any need to stay”. His eyes fell upon the dagger in her hands, recognizing it as his own. He smiled then, a wistful, exhausted smile. “It is time to take your leave”.
No longer caring if she remained there or not he staggered on unsteady feet to the cot in the corner of the room. He collapsed onto it, not even bothering to peel back the covers, and was instantly asleep.
He was strangely vulnerable and beautiful then, and terribly young, his dark hair falling over his brow, outlining the pale, unlined skin of his visage. A little boy lay, buried beneath the heartlessness and bravado. He lay, curled up upon himself, his slat thin sides moving gently with each breath, responding to the tides of life.
And for the first time in three years, he did not dream.
Posted on 2008-03-21 at 01:15:29.
Edited on 2008-03-21 at 01:20:32 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Coming to Terms
Benevolence.
Kindness.
What use were they to him now? His heart had quailed at the thought of failure, to think of the land where shadows lie. Too exhausted to move, and too faint to be conscious of fear, he could only lie and remain silent. And then gradually his mind drifted away into strange vague thoughts, always with that whispered threat coming back into them, and so he lost himself in the nirvana of delirium, the blessed relief of those who are too sorely tried. Waves of waves of unparalleled nothingness circumvented his persona. Fire flowed , melding minds, natures, memories, and the sudden revelation of a world beyond comprehension.
Memories.
A female voice cut through his brooding and ominously, he felt his lips peel back from his teeth in a snarl that was disturbingly out of place on his new--found, clean-cut visage. His heart beat fiercely in the gloom, and in spite of the warmth of the water, he shivered, pushing back the supernatural chill that hung like the touch of death. The door swung open and like a whirlwind Moraglin blew into the room, completely unconcerned upon Septimus’ current state. He recoiled, completely taken off guard, mild blue eyes flashing.
“Don’t you ever knock”, he growled sullenly, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was. He peered up at her angrily through a veil of soaked blonde hair.
To her horror, she approached further, placed down the tray of hot food and poured more hot water into his bath. Astonished by her brazenness, he sprung to his feet and climbed out of the tub, awkward in his new disguise-body and pushed her roughly away from him. He grabbed the clean robes that rested on the chair nearest to the tub and pressed them against his body. He shot her a baleful look. “What the hell do you think you are doing”, he hissed, but his apparent anger was only for display. A dark crimson blush spread over his cheekbones and he avoided eye contact.
The great Septimus Sandalwood, scourge of the seas, was deathly embarrassed.
Finally, as if deciding not to allow her to get the best of him he shot her once more glance that was intended to wilt her, and began to dress himself. Not bothering to hide his vulnerability he slipped on the robes slowly over his taunt naked form, as if taunting her. Finally fully dressed, he smiled bitterly at her.
“Congratulations”, he murmured sarcastically, “you got what you came for”.
He looked away,
“Now…leave me”.
Posted on 2008-03-20 at 21:42:52.
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Coming Home
The dark man stood alone upon the shore.
The wind tugged fretfully at his tattered black cloak, and the grey light of early evening cast a haunting spell. Waves crashed upon the rocks, and sent up a vicious sea-spray that lashed about his calves, dotting the dark leather of his riding boots like ethereal tears. He barely felt it.
He bowed his head before the majesty of the sea.
Blood poured from the bullet wounds in his chest, pooled, reddened the dunes until the soft white sand became a sinister crimson. Hot blood, forced from his body by a dying heart matted his dark hair, trickled down his forehead, and ran into his beautifully mad eyes. So this was it then. He had never thought of his own death. Life and death were equally far from him. The veils and threads of darkness enveloped him, caressed him, bringing him to realisation. Thereafter, in the end, the sturdy flesh of Men proves frail, fated for failure. His heart mourned only that forevermore would he be rejected by his kin, so that when the shadows fall, and all that is left is dreaming, he would stand on the shore, watching the gulls laugh in the bright silvery splendour against a honey-coloured sky. The tapered prows would pass him as all that he knew would depart into thread and shadow, turning the world into silver glass as they tracked that swan-path of old even unto the shadows path.
Pain. The man stumbled out with outstretched hands and another man caught him, a young man with soft-deer eyes and a noble stance. The wounded man glanced up with something like shock at the man who would someday introduce himself as Shaben Loylar, the man who would one day be his closest friend. No words were spoken between them, as the young intruder called others to him.
The wounded man was lifted gently on their shoulders and carried to safety. He was placed on a soft dune out of the reach of the hungry sea. A thin vial of glass was pressed to his lips. The wounded man feebly batted at it with a snarl. One of the others grumbled something in a foreign, guttural language, and with the man fighting feebly, his jaws were held open and the lifegiving medicine poured down his throat. He stopped struggling, shivered, and remained still for some time with fixed and ancient eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, branded by the curious mixture of darkness and light. His eyes were glassy, his breathing uneven, his countenance, celestial, knowing the beauty of youth, was streaked with tears of pain. He glared towards Shaben, the youth that had saved him and grabbed onto his wrist with a biting strength. Shaben`s gaze fell upon his hand, upon the blatant tattoo of a seven, his identification mark. “Go to hell, you pretentious idiot“, Septimus whispered weakly as the darkness ebbed and flowed, and his voice was of the lull of the tides, flashing and fire-hard.
He closed his eyes.
*****************
That had been three years ago.
He watched him stalk off silently and fiercely knuckled away the tears in his eyes. A horrible hollowness dwelled in the pit of his stomach. “I apologise for my friend”, he announced dryly. “He has been quite upset lately, mostly due to me”. He swallowed hard. “It is a dangerous endeavour indeed that you are so freely volunteering for, and you are most welcome to join us, both of you. “ He attempted a faint smile. “However, I doubt that you, or anyone of us, will make it out of this endeavour alive”.
“I believe I know, milady”, he murmured to Evani wistfully, a roguish look flickered into his dark, beguiling eyes.
*******************
The moonlight enveloped him, spangled him in silver filigree, a lone wanderer far from home, years from the completion of his story. For many miles would still need to be traveled, battles fought, female hearts conquered, destinies realised. Forever he would bear the scars of his exile, a bloodied testament of his will of live, of his difference. Someday he would find refuge in embraces, sweet laughter would ring in his ears, smiles and words of joy that the forgotten had returned home. Enshrouded by shadow he thought dimly of what the ocean must sound like for one who had reached the end of his journey, the last page of his legend. How it must speak of family.
How it must be like coming home.
Posted on 2008-03-19 at 21:36:57.
Edited on 2008-03-19 at 22:46:15 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: A Darkness Over Lantan
Fear.
Blank, wordless fear. It filtered up through his brain like beautifully numbing ice. Dazed, he wondered how he could have scorned it before. It had a serene affect on him, driving his thoughts away in clean, efficient strokes. He gazed at him calmly, his eyes impossibly dark holes. His pale skin, already an unnatural hue had blanched to the colour of snow. The shadows that drifted across his alabaster skin stood pronounced, like sinister birthmarks.
His face was totally expressionless.
And then suddenly, like a coiled serpent he leaped forward in a terrifying burst of energy, forgetting where he was. His delicate hands latched onto the front of Shaben`s robes. “ How do they know that he is here”, he snarled, his words supremely quiet.” He is supposed to have died years ago, Shaben, unless you have told them otherwise”.
His grip tightened, his eyes shone murder.
“What have you been telling them, my friend?“
The last two words of the final sentence were bitterly sarcastic, laced with fear in the blinding anger, like a yellow thread pulsing through a sea of red.
He was going to die.
Reeling under Shaben`s words, he forced himself to release the hold he had on him. A few of the regulars who were not in a drunken stupor were glancing curiously over to him. He tore his eyes from them and then returned his magnificently malevolent gaze to the man that he would have once risked his life for. “I have no intention of being caught”, he hissed, his voice lowered so that only Shaben could hear. “If I must die, it will be in valiant battle, not on the gallows, hung like a stray dog, while the entire world pays to applaud."
Sadness filtered in through the fury.
“I have been preparing for death since my birth, and never would I thought that it could be so near.“ He slumped back in his seat. “I ask you only one favour, my friend”, he murmured. ”Let me die the death I was born to die, if it so comes to that. Let me die with dignity”.
And for a moment it seemed that tears glimmered in those unfathomable eyes, but when he turned to address the rest of the party, his gaze was hard and unyielding as flint.
“A darkness has come upon the city of Lantan”, he whispered. “I doubt if any of you are safe here. We”, he nodded to Shaben”, shall be fleeing the island before the cloud descends, but it shall be a close call at any rate. You are welcome to come with us, if you value your lives”. He closed his eyes and sighed. “We are both men who hold many secrets, secrets you are no doubt curious about, but this is not the time to answer them. Come or stay, live or die, it is your decision”.
He smiled wanly and in the flickering light he looked heartbreakingly young.
“Your only choice…is to trust me”.
He stood then, and drew the grey cloak over his head. Balling it up under one arm, he draped his old, black cloak over his shoulders and tied it so his diplomat’s uniform was invisible beneath it. He drew the deep, full hood, and from within its depths, two eyes glittered like chips of jade. “ We must stay in the shadows”, he muttered to the rest of the party, sitting down again.
“We must stay safe”.
“And if you trust me, old friend”, he whispered to Shaben. “You will follow me to the ends of the earth”.
Perhaps then, the tears in his eyes were some kind of optical illusion, a trick of the light.Or perhaps they had a more natural, astonishing cause.
The Dark Man was crying.
Posted on 2008-03-16 at 17:48:41.
Edited on 2008-03-16 at 18:25:45 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Ballad of the Red Dawn
He tipped his head slightly to one side, listening to the rapid words of his old friend. It played back in his intuitive mind as disturbingly fake, and fueled by fear. There was the scent of fear on him now, a bitter, citrus scent that fired ancient memories from whence they came like forbidden ghosts rising from the dead. Fear, ah, that was an emotion that he was well acquainted with! The most primal emotion, in a sense, and he sensed it on his friend now, secreted from every pore.
Unconsciously, Ben grimaced. That scent was maddening, not to be borne. A sorrowful, wistful smile curled about his lips like charring paper. It could not have been easy, having him for a friend, he knew. Being on good terms with him was somewhat like being on good terms with a very large, very irritable leopard. After all, he regarded allegiances as a way to pass the time and the laws of society as friendly, albeit obnoxious suggestions. The leopard knew no mercy, it had no conscience. It would either slaughter you or be your spirit guide. But now the claws were sheathed.
He sat back and waited.
“You lost someone, Evani”, he breathed into the shadows. Twin emeralds glanced up at the bard, glowing with a terrible, vital energy, confident in their power.
“Someone you loved.“
Like a winding serpent he hypnotised and entranced, weaving a spell of pure charisma. Once you listened to that sonorous, empty voice and gazed into the tragic dark eyes, you were already claimed as his prey. And like the man bitten by a cobra, already condemned to die, you began to see his beauty.
He was so cold, so pure.
He saw the stories in her eyes.
He smelt the twisting smoke.
“You have seen a red dawn”?
It was as if he was a sparrow that had crossed the entire ocean and happened upon a bird that knew his nest.
In spite of the somber visions, his heart soared to hear of the dear old stories again. He had played over his own legends in his mind, incessantly, and the tales were to him as stories in a dog-eared story-book, carried lovingly under a child’s arm. He flipped through the well-turned pages, a trek of memory uncharted.
He retraced his tracks back to the dark and muggy jungles of distant lands where spiders scuttled and natives burned effigies to their hungry gods. He followed the ageless path to burning deserts and sparkling springs, to virgin woods and pristine wilderness. He fought again those ancient battles. He traced wordlessly these treasures of splendour, underlined always with the faint, lingering scent of the sea.
"Have you not heard the stories", he murmured to the gnome dreamily.
He was, unfortunately, in for a rude awakening.
He barely bothered to turn his head. He met the shocked gaze of his friend, held eye contact for a terrifying moment and then, perhaps insanely, grinned. He was toying with him, Shaben would ultimately discover. But buried beneath the humour in his eyes was a kind of quiet desperation. He was not built to live a lie. So lost was he, so hungry for the glory days, he was willing to risk his life to hear just one more story, just one more tale. He was desperately miserable. And yet he understood what could possibly come of his recklessness. Death. A humiliating public death on the gallows. The final blasphemy.
And yet this was his secret. He always gave just enough information to the other party to cause a risk to himself, to make the game more interesting. But he never gave himself away completely, nay, that was for the other party to discover on their own. That was the point of the game. More information would filter in, and he would tantalise them, but even if they discovered his true identity, as Shaben had, he would always be just out of their grasp, a clever red fox dancing just beyond the reach of the hounds’ snapping jaws. He bet for the highest stakes, and as yet, he had never lost.
Not yet, at any rate.
Posted on 2008-03-16 at 03:11:40.
Edited on 2008-03-16 at 03:17:54 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Rooms at Midnight
The man currently known as Benjamin Barker leaned back in his chair, the same half-brooding, half-inviting smile stamped clearly across his features. He chuckled lightly as the half-elf bard grinned gratefully in return and made her way over to their table. He glanced up at her with an entrancing little-boy innocence in his dark emerald eyes. They seemed almost sable in the flickering candlelight. A thin scar that ran through his eye brow seemed to be cast in sharp relief. Aye, he was dangerous, that much was evident in his somehow secret smile, and hypnotising, but the fact remained that in spite of the tales spoken of him, even now, he was not insane.
“He must have gone daft”, men murmured in alehouses and alleyways, casting nervous glances as if expecting to see him in shadows or in the guise of a trusted friend. “After what he has seen…he must be.”
And then another of the men would murmur, that no, the things that he had done had been too clever to be daft, and the party would fall silent. Those were dangerous waters they were venturing into and some things were better left unsaid. After all, it hardly mattered then, did it? The infamous pirate captain Septimus Sandalwood, the king of nowhere, had been shot in the heart three years before. They knew that. That he had died a hard death. He was dead. And as he fell, men said, they knew that even the Dark Man wept.
If this was death, Benjamin thought, listening to the sweet voice of the half-elf bard, then he was living it up. He smiled his secret smile. In fact, he should have died years ago.
Or at least something to that effect.
“Evani then”, he replied quietly, laughter dancing in his tragically sane eyes. “And a lovely name it is”. He shrugged. “I am Benjamin Barker”, he murmured in that same half-humourous, half musing tone. His gaze never left her face as he spoke. He communicated, it seemed, with total animal watchfulness.
“Do you play”, he inquired brightly, indicating the lute. “I used to play the lute myself for my supper when I was a lad. Even now, when there is no need of it, I still like to hear the sound of one. “. He smiled gently at her. “Provided, of course, it is played correctly”.
“May I”, he asked quietly, and with her permission took the lute into his hands. With an easy understanding, he played a few scales and then began to play a haunting melody, his fine hands running over the strings with mastery. The song was dark, as was he, and was beautiful. The melody conjured up images of woven spider webs, and black roses, and empty rooms at midnight. He sang very softly to his playing, in a crystalline, husky tone, and sang thus;
Like the lonely winter tree
Outstretched branches with never any leaves
Lonely skeletons, with lonely smiles
Looking away while trying to hide
Their outstretched lonely eyes
He pause, suddenly very self-conscience. “It was a song my father taught me when I was very young. He said my mother used to sing it to my brothers before she died”. He looked away. “It’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it?” He handed the lute back to her, a sorrowful expression in his eyes as if he was looking back on a childhood that had been far from happy.
However, as the gnome walked over and Shaben rebuked her, Benjamin felt a deep, almost insane urge to laugh. He clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “Relax, mate”, he muttered, stretching slightly, “social etiquette is not all that it is cracked up to be. No point in it”. He considered. “At least none that I could see, anyway”.
He turned again to Evani, and the laugher faded from his gaze. “Evani”, he mused. “Tell me…have you ever heard of a chap named Septimus Sandalwood?”
Posted on 2008-03-14 at 23:46:38.
Edited on 2008-03-15 at 00:17:23 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: The Inn
Exhausted, Septimus dismounted and staggered over to the rest of his group. His skin was deathly pale with his weariness, and his eyes were dull. He attempted a faint smile as Moraglin offered to pay for their rooms. Even though he had instinctively distrusted the woman, she seemed friendly enough, at least now. With a sort of half-humbled pride, he started to protest her payment for him and then was subdued. “Kind of you”, Septimus murmured absentmindedly, his thoughts far-away in the shadow world where he so often dwelled.
“Don’t I know you, mate”, the innkeeper asked of him, a jolly man with a rubicund complexion. Septimus gazed with him patiently, a ghost of something that might have been longing flitting across his features.
“I doubt it”, he whispered softly, his tone emotional and crystalline like a violin. “Few do”. He turned to his traveling companions, rejoicing and despairing of his disguise. “I hope I do not seem rude”, he muttered,” but if I may, I would like to retire to my room. I shall meet you all for supper later”. He indeed looked sickly in the sallow light of the lanterns. “I am feeling quite ill”.
The innkeeper handed him the key to his room. With a contemptuous glance to Moraglin, he slipped off his baldric with its heavy cutlass and handed her his dagger. “Will you hold these for me”, he inquired darkly. A sarcastic note flavored his words.
“In case I…ah…get any ideas?”
Without another word, anger blossoming in his heart, he tramped up the stairs and was gone.
**********
He entered his lonely room on the upper floor, struck by its lavish bleakness. He placed his belongings on the floor, and retired to the bath. Allowing the hot water to run for a few moments, he stripped and climbed into the tub, allowing his knotted muscles to relax. This was no time to be mourning for things lost.
He was, after all, comparatively lucky.
Posted on 2008-03-12 at 23:39:50.
Edited on 2008-03-12 at 23:42:36 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Benjamin and the Red Man
He fell into memory.
The darkness dipped, the shadows flickered, planting sinister, slippery kisses on his alabaster skin. His eyes, frighteningly blank, stared forth into the void. The Red Man, his elder brother, had come through the winding streets of Corelan. He had been waiting.
“The two females, your wife and your daughter were killed by the sword”, he stated dryly, and his voice was like death,” …but your son…your little son…”.
A feverish light had come into invalid’s eyes. “Is he hurt”, he whispered hollowly. “Please, tell me that he wasn’t hurt…that they spared him…he was an infant”, his voice trembled, “…a baby…”. The Red Man gazed at him gravely. “ He was hurt…quite badly”. But when he started to reply, the Red Man held up a hand for silence.
“But he is no longer in any pain”.
Light dawned in the man’s eyes. “Thank God”, he sobbed, a man who had once profaned all deities. “Thank Go-”. His words cut off as abruptly as if he had been shot as he understood the true meaning of what his brother had said. With a low moan, he buckled to his knees, head bowed, slat-thin sides heaving like bellows. The Red Man made no effort to aid his brother.
“He was poisoned”.
The man barked a sharp, soulless laugh.
His older brother didn’t bat an eye.
“Wasn’t he…Septimus?”
The man looked up blankly. “Poisoned”, he repeated in a dazed fashion, “yes…”. The Red Man looked away. “Did you find your Luka, brother”, he murmured, slipping an arm as dry and smooth as a serpent over the man’s frail shoulders. He leaned towards him, his head very close to his. He smelled of musk and crumbling petals and nasty secrets in the dark.
He smelled of long shadows.
“Come inside”, he urged.
His brother jerked away violently. “No”. The Red Man smiled tenderly. “You’re shivering”. And indeed the young man was shivering, though not with the cold. His tears mingled freely with the rain. The Red Man slipped his crimson cloak over his brother’s shoulders. “You’ll be cold”, he whispered absentmindedly. The man touched the woven necklace about his slender throat. “It is much colder for the ones that I love”, he said softly.
Suddenly, he turned in desperation. “Who did this, Quintus”, he demanded, his suddenly strong hands latching with a death’s grip onto his brother’s shirt. The Red Man’s mouth moved, but his words were mute. His hands fell away, nerveless. The man who would one day be known as Benjamin Barker closed his eyes and breathed deep of the dark.
***********
“Its good to see you again, Ben”, a voice said.
Shocked out of his nightmare, Barker turned to his friend, nodding once curtly, before turning away. A drink, yes, well that sounded fine. Although a few moments ago he would not had drunk more if it was forced, his throat was suddenly dry for the amber, foul-smelling liquid. He stalked over to the bar, his strange eyes dark and uncomprehending. “An ale”, he muttered reluctantly to the barkeep. His hand curled reflexively around the pewter mug as it was past to him and with sudden abandon, he lifted it and drank deeply of the bitter swill. He rummaged in his pockets for a bit, brandished his diplomat card, wondered why he had not thought of that before, and looked around a bit for his friend.
Ah, there he was. Chatting up a priestess of some sort. Pretty little thing. He was immediately drawn to her sad eyes. Dark, fey eyes. Eyes that had looked too often into the Valley. Eyes like his own. Unable to resist his curiosity, he made his way over to their corner, his characteristic sailor’s swagger softened by his years on land, his steps languid. His eyes shone with interest. So she was at the Temple. She had seen the body. Pity. He really had hoped that the little idiot would have had the sense to go and die off somewhere unnoticed.
“Might I join you ”, he inquired, heartlessly cutting into Loylar’s conversation. He smiled faintly to let Shaben know it was not to be taken as rude. It was only his way. His eyes swept over the girl once, cautiously, and then he allowed his body posture to relax slightly. “I am Benjamin Barker”, he introduced himself smoothly. “ This is, as he has undoubtedly told you, is Shaben Loylar. We are both diplomats for the Lantan government. Damnable job, really”, he remarked, taking another swig of ale. He studied her seriously, wondering what had brought such sadness that it could truly injure, truly darken the good soul behind those eyes. “Though there are worse things”, he added gently, his gaze far-away.
He turned suddenly to the half-elf lounging near the bar and tipped her a friendly wink.
“Care to join us”, he addressed her over the din.
“You might as well”.
Posted on 2008-03-11 at 21:03:26.
Edited on 2008-03-12 at 01:05:53 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Noble Savage
Shadows.
Life ebbed and connected earnestly with Shadows.
He sighed, running his hand through his dark hair that consistently fell into his eyes, obscuring his vision. His shoulders slumped. For a moment a spark of anger had coloured his conversation with his friend, and he bit it back with a vengeance. This was Shaben after all. This was the man who had met him half-mad and raving, bloodied, more dead than alive. It was this man who had risked his reputation to hide his terrible, gruesome secret, who had trusted him, who had listened with sympathy as he recounted the death of his family, had watched as he gazed morbidly down at hands that had tossed dirt over three tiny coffins.
He had wept.
He recounted then, that it had been raining very hard that night.
“You need me”, he mused faintly. He gazed at him balefully through the darkness. Even after three years, he liked to think that he still had the power to intimidate him. He smiled faintly at him, a true smile. “At last you admit that I am of value to the government”. He closed his eyes and leaned one shoulder against the wall. The light from the tiny barred window sent tiger-stripes floating over his features. It was very much like being in jail. “The true days of the pirates are over”, he murmured, a bitter edge like a poisoned blade slicing through the otherwise harmless words. “They have become obsolete. “. He opened his eyes, a ghost of an expression flitting through his cool gaze.
“I have become obsolete”.
“I was a legend”, he whispered suddenly. “I meant something, damn it, and now look at me”. He grimaced. “Look at me!”. He slumped against the wall, a broken man.
“ Look at what I am now.”
“I have become a tool of the very people who would have me dead. Three years ago, if you had not met me, you too would have been crying for my blood along with the others. You would have seen me hung!”
He gazed listlessly into the darkness.
“I have become nothing more than a lie”.
He searched his friend’s face for any sign of insincerity. “Most people think that it is with my Kiss that I do the majority of my killings”, he replied coldly. “That has been considered my trademark, but like the art of killing itself, I have evolved. “ He shrugged. “For all practical purposes the man I truly am is dead. Would you not find it suspicious if my infamous weapon suddenly appeared again without warning? The authorities may be short-sighted, but they are not blind. I have suffered many times for underestimating them”.
“Yes”, he said quietly. “We are here on business, if nothing else”.
He smiled.
“What is the common saying? Something about curiosity and the cat? You have gotten too used to answers from me, Shaben. “. His tone shimmered faintly with mock disapproval. “I can tell you”, he replied, “but I will not, and that is the end of it. Rest assured that it is of little importance and you are much safer not knowing that particular information. “. He paused and all amusement faded from his tone and features. His eyes were deep-set and very very dark. They seemed intolerably ancient.
“If they…if they…ever found you…”.
He glanced to him and for a sickening moment fear glimmered in his eyes. And then it was gone, quickly as it came, replaced with the usual impression of thinly veiled contempt. He opened the door and stalked through it. He kicked the door open for Shaben and as soon as his friend past through it, he went into the room again, slamming the door shut behind him. Within a few moments of pulling his wrinkled robes from his deerskin bag, he stomped through the door again, completely changed, his dark robes balled up under his arm. A light grey robe was draped regally over his thin shoulders, covering a uniform of subdued blue-grays.
He was imperious.
He was handsome.
He was not amused.
“Good”, he muttered to Shaben. “You trust me”.
He glanced towards him and grinned.
“We’ll see how far that gets you”.
Posted on 2008-03-09 at 21:54:33.
Edited on 2008-03-09 at 21:59:55 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Revelation
Meanwhile, at the bar, Benjamin Barker was quite cheerfully plotting revenge.
Not that he looked it of course, he never looked it, he was not one of those stereotypical villains who rubbed their hands together and cackled over brilliant ploys and plots. No, in fact, he looked rather unassuming. He had retreated to his corner and had his head down next to his drink. His eyes were a bit bleary and his mind was apparently rapidly becoming unhinged.
He was miserably happy.
He blinked up at the stately young man through a curtain of dark hair and found that he recognised him. A slow, wondering smile spread across his lips. He toasted him with what remained of his drink. “An honour”, he murmured softly, “to be visited by the great Shaben Loylar”. He took a gigantic gulp of the alcohol and clanked the tankard down on the table. “How’s life”, he remarked coolly, “mediocrity never did pay off for me, but a simple life is for some men, and I do not blame them”.
He regarded him suspiciously for a moment, brow furrowed in thought at the mention of a private conversation. Then suddenly his face cleared and he leaned back in his chair. “ You no doubt believe me guilty of murder”, he whispered softly, his voice low, his eyes empty. All his frivolous charm had been thrown out the window. He was cold now, and lethally efficient.
His eyes bored into him, searching.
“We are friends, yes”, he inquired, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “And as your friend, you must trust me”. He reached for his tankard, satisfied on that point. “ A difficult feat for you, I understand but well…”, he paused, “we are all mortal”.
He rose to his feet, a dark contrast to Shaben`s clean-cut appearance, and shot him a look of quiet amusement. He moved fluidly towards the back of the pub and wrenched open the grimy wooden door to the back room. Considerately, he held it open for Shaben, smiling slightly all the while as if regarding this entire situation as an amusing if not simple minded game.
He moved swiftly and closed the door behind them.
“I know what you are accusing me of”, he mused. In the darkness the shadows accentuated his gaunt face, touching the hollows of his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes, like living snakes. The hiss of his breathing was slow and even, no nervousness apparent. “And I will answer you truthfully”.
His eyes suddenly blazed.
“I have been in hiding for three years”, he snarled softly. “And even though I have made it painfully obvious to you that it is essential not to give anyone the slightest iota of an idea of who I am, you seem to see me as an idiot who would murder someone without giving the slightest care of how suspicious I would appear to others”. His voice lowered. “But I am no idiot, Shaben, and no fool. Murder, you accuse me of. Ay…”, he laughed bitterly, “ murder. But sometimes murder is a mercy, my friend, it is a kindness. Some powerful men were after that pathetic little sailor, men he had no hope of evading. I saved him from them.”
His eyes darkened with something like sadness.
“ They have no hope of following him”.
“I suppose you are wondering how I did it”, he muttered.
“ Sea-snake poison”, he said brightly, as if that had just occurred to him.
“It is permeable through the skin. I smeared it all over the Anduan pistol I dealt to him.“ He shrugged. “Poor sap wasn’t wearing gloves”. He shook his head. “ It is slow-acting, sea-snake poison, and painless. You just…go to sleep”.
He put his arm over Shaben`s shoulder. “You see, mate? I am not a cruel, callous man. I saved him from torture, from nightmares, from pain. It was brilliant in a way, they have no hope of tracing that pistol to me. He’s safe, I’m safe, it all works out in the end, my friend”.
He paused, struck by the fullness of that thought.
“It all works out in the end”.
Posted on 2008-03-09 at 16:25:49.
Edited on 2008-03-09 at 16:44:07 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Websites....
Subject: Websites....
I created a new website for my characters on this site.
If you have time, I`d be much obliged if you visited it and perhaps gave me some feedback on my site.
There is about 5 characters there, more to come.
Thank you for your time.
www.freewebs.com/mydisasterarea/
Posted on 2008-03-09 at 02:18:02.
Edited on 2008-03-09 at 02:20:23 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Lantan
Subject: Incognito
Septimus Sandalwood/ Benjamin Barker
In a small nondescript pub, in a small nondescript corner, was a small nondescript man recklessly causing trouble.
"Do you have the merchandise", the customer hissed impatiently. His head shifted ever so often, moving in small jerking movements like a bird, his eyes as wild as a rabbit's in a snare. He nervously raked his hands through his greasy dark hair, watching anxiously for any passerby.
His companion could not have been any more different.
A tall man, he was, slender as a willow, he leaned nonchalantly against the grimy chair, a long tapering arm slung over the back of his seat, a pipe hanging affably from between thumb and forefinger. Black, impeccable robes draped imperiously about his thin form, patched slightly with spots of dried matter that looked not quite but not entirely unlike blood. Twin boots crossed over themselves, placed informally on a table, a merry twinkling noise whistling from the spurs. A long drag was taken from the pipe, followed by a soft chuckle of amusement.
“My dear man”, he murmured, his voice supremely quite despite his intimidating appearance, with a acrid and unmistakable note of sarcasm. “I daresay that you do not take me to be a liar?”
A faint smile curved his thin lips into a rigid bow and despite their intended effect, the smaller man felt a twinge of deep, primal fear as he gazed into his emerald eyes that glimmered like tinted jade. He looked into the abyss and the abyss gazed disconcertedly back. Dark, matted hair cascaded messily to his slight shoulders and draped over his forehead, nearly obscuring those coldly intelligent, half-mad eyes. Vulpine, the man thought uneasily, vulpine eyes, eyes of a rabid dog-fox caught in the henhouse. Feathers plastered over his muzzle and yet he lives.
The dark man tapped the ashes from the pipe and laid it gently on the table. His hand, with its long elegant fingers, dipped below the table and reached into the depths of his cloak. With an air of reverence, he drew forth the weapon, a vision of coldly beautiful steel and lethal efficiency. With precision, he deliberately placed the pistol on the table, and allowed the man to breathlessly examine it. “One, two, three hundred silvers worth”, he replied with another wry smile,” as promised, Anduan pistol, flintlock weapon, grained wood handle…”
He expertly took it in his hands and balanced it.
“Was it really necessary”, the other man muttered in what was a badly attempted expression of horror, eyes shining. The dark man nodded solemnly. “Gives this meeting a sense of occasion, don’t you think?” He absentmindedly gave the pistol to the customer and played with his woven necklace that nestled sweetly in the hollow of his throat. His gaze was deep-set and far away. “I will accept my payment now", he whispered faintly, and the other man did not hesitate to oblige him. Moodily, he transferred the glistening coins into his worn deerskin bag, relishing distantly the sense of cold metal slipping through his fingers. It always ended like this, didn’t it? His eyes slipped closed as he grabbed almost reflexively for his pipe and dragged the lovely poison deeper into his lungs.
He wondered why he bothered.
Wearily, he opened his eyes and saw the other man staring at him in fascination, his eyes filling up his face like the face of a child studying an endangered, prehistoric, but unbelievably malicious reptile lounging behind bars. He tilted his head, once, sharply, and dismissed him wordlessly. The pistol disappeared beneath the ragged folds of another man’s cloak and the limping, scuttling footsteps blended and faded as well.
How depressing.
And all at once he decided that he needed a drink.
He dragged himself to his full height, a tall, shambling man who could have once been considered beautiful, and tramped listlessly over to the bar and bought most of it. Wallowing in despair and a pint of bitter, he thought back on his life and realised he did not like any of it. Obscured by the drink he allowed the shadows of his past to drift mindlessly, and quite heartily ignored much of it.
“Sir?”.
A loud cheerful voice entered into his life and caused him a headache. He squinted up at him, a heavy-set tavern-keeper wiping down a filthy glass.
“What is it”, he managed to inquire dolefully.
“Your bill, sir”, the tavern-keeper replied happily, and he tossed him a few coppers, wondering what the hell he had to be happy about.“You sure scared him off sir”, the tavern-keeper remarked.The dark man looked up, honestly puzzled.“Hmm?”, he said.
“That ugly little chap”, the tavern-keeper answered. “’E`s one of those sailor types that’s always hanging around here.” The dark man blinked. “A sailor type”, he mused,” I used to know one of them quite well”.
“Nasty little blighter”, the tavern-keeper said promptly. “You sure sent ‘im scuttling off, eh mate? I mean…ah.. right sir? Am I right?”
The renegade morosely considered this.
“ I scared him, did I?”
The tavern-keeper grinned.
“Aye, you did something to that effect”.
The dark man smiled into his drink.
“I am Benjamin Barker”, he said.
“And effect…is what I’m best at”.
Posted on 2008-03-08 at 21:18:28.
Edited on 2008-03-09 at 16:24:55 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: It's that time....
Subject: ^^
Happy Birthday. Haven`t gotten to twentieth yet, expect it well be nice though. May your year be filled with happiness, adventure, and most importantly FUN!
Best wishes,
SEPP
Posted on 2008-03-04 at 11:51:49.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Low Tide
He hung his head, silently murmuring curses against his friends. The care in their eyes both humbled him and infuriated him. They were mortal, were they not? Mortals were no better than rats, scampering, stealing, lying, cheating, caring for none but themselves. He saw no reason for them to care for him. He was sullen in the best of moods, downright dangerous in the worst. Even with those he liked he tended to be introspective and condescending. His newly turned blue eyes scanned them scathingly, a sense of embarrassment rearing its ugly head.
He shifted, the sunshine shining on his newly broad shoulders, sparkling off his glacial eyes. Septimus cocked his head at the order and gigged his dark stallion forward as the party set off, morosely lingering at the back of the party. As the great Felani pulled back, he skittishly move towards his place in the centre of the group. He looked up as A'moraglin addressed him, a towheaded young man whose brooding expression was entirely out of place on his clean-cut face. His eyes shone involuntarily as she held up his dagger, tracing its well-loved curves. “You are returning it”, he inquired, amazed, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
Without thinking he took the dagger from her hand, caressed it, and sheathed it back in its well-accustomed place. He breathed easier. “Thank you”, he muttered submissively, his head lowered, avoiding her gaze.
In spite of his pride, she frightened him.
He dared to lift his head slightly, and gazed at the Goddess. Like the savage native that he was he honoured her because she terrified him. Her eyes had been like his before the disguise cloaked them, but he was startled to see a splash of fire, crimson splashes dancing madly about her pupils.
Conscious being, she was.
Fear electrified him but like a man before a shooting he was too fasinated to look away. Her words were crude but her eyes were beautiful. “ I want to escape”, he whispered humbly. “If there are other ways than death, tell me of them”.
His voice was earnest.
She turned from him, and his brain reeled at the lunacy of her words. She spoke, her tone sweetly husky and words darkly insane. Protect the Goddess? Protect the moon that brings the tides? What a thought! “I shall protect you”, he murmured, amused, “if I am able, but I believe that you have all the protection you need. “ He shook his head. “ I am no fool, milady, despite what you may have heard or believed previously”. He shrugged,a smile curving around his lips in ashes.
“Just…food for thought…”.
He rode on, silent.
Posted on 2008-02-27 at 23:14:31.
Edited on 2008-03-01 at 18:42:15 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: A Controversial Rescue
His gaze drifted, surveying the nearly feline woman suspiciously. Her words were sharp and held a maddening nonchalance. Anger boiled in his blood. He had no asked to be found, indeed, had not wanted to be found but the inexplicable woman had gone out of her way to make things doubly difficult for him. His eyes closed wearily. Now they would never let him out of their sight, they would watch him, study him, remark on him like an interesting specimen held in captivity, twisting violently, waiting only to die.
His eyes opened slowly and a slight note of hope came into his expression as the levitate was mentioned. At least he would make a fool of himself no longer. As Zara whirled on him, outraged, he stared calmly at her, eyes hard as flint, mouth turned up in cold amusement.
‘I do not belong to you, girl’, he thought faintly.
‘ Ay, and your friends neither. I will not forget this insult’. He turned his head silently and stubbornly away, refusing to look at her. Friends honoured your decisions. He was not a child.
He flinched back from her hand, but the restraints prevented from any meaningful action. There was no way to avoid her, so with barely concealed annoyance he allowed her to help him as the levitate released him and gravity took its hold. He nearly collapsed as his unsteady legs reached the ground and involuntarily touched Zara`s shoulder to keep his balance. Startled, he glanced at her, his emerald eyes flashing , and withdrew his hand, gaining back his balance. He lowered himself cautiously, and sat cross-legged in the grass. He bit back a chuckle. This child actually believed that she could defend him against his pursuers? She could not defend herself, let alone him. So she had caged him just as surely as if he had been tied, under the watchful eyes of his foolish, foolhardy…friends.
The goddess.
Here?
Septimus’ eyes darted back and forth as the strange woman conversed with the rest of the party. The great Felani lumbered up to them, and in spite of himself, Septimus felt a slight bit of curiosity that was demolished with the crushing statement that followed. He snarled insults at him, at all of them, caged he was, without dignity, without option. Ah, he hated them then, all of them. Loathed. Despised.
Relief rushed through him as he saw a way out of the embarrassing situation, and he mounted his stallion awkwardly, struggling to keep his balance, and as the spell whisked around him and shaved the darkness from his appearance and warmed his feral eyes into an easy-going blue, he struggled to keep his identity as well.
A warrior then.
A warrior with fear glowing in his heart.
Posted on 2008-02-25 at 22:21:37.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Cornered Wolf
Septimus watched her warily, his dark eyes filling up his pale, frightened face. Electricity coursed through his body, put into sharp relief by the absolute outrage that blanked his mind. Thoughts flitted in his mind like bits of charred paper. He was not aware of them. He was only aware of three terrible facts. The first one was that the Goddess was strong, as his survival instinct reminded him coldly. The second was that she was the one who had cheated him. And the third was that he was absolutely helpless.
He drew back to make himself less of a target, eyes glancing wildly for a route of escape. He snarled and raged at her like a cornered wolf, but they were all empty threats. He could do nothing to harm her. So he sulked like a child, silent, his huge, uncomprehending hard eyes suddenly devoid of any weak emotion. He must have known that he could not save himself, but there was little fear now in his eyes, only hatred. Oh, the hate in his eyes!
They tracked her movement and sharpened like a beam as she made a mystic gesture and suddenly felt the terrifying sensation of rising, as if my magic. He groped uselessly for the ground and dangled absurdly in the air as she studied him. Her apparent amusement at his predicament drove him into further fits of rage, all to no avail. His energy dimmed and he glared at her, still wordless, as she tied him to her animal like a beast brought to market, and efficiently removed his weapons. He struck out at her violently, but undeterred, she simply restrained him.
Helplessly, he was dragged along behind her, his struggles noiseless. He did not speak, but a faint sobbing noise came from his throat, his heart burning with embarrassment and anger and confusion.
The horse suddenly paused in its ceaseless plodding and he lifted his head listlessly, watching as Zara rushed towards him. As she neared him, he drew back submissively, his eyes hooded and suspicious. But her tone was kind. He tilted his head slightly and forced himself to speak, his voice halting and soft.
“I…failed. ”, he murmured quietly.
Posted on 2008-02-25 at 00:31:27.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Goddess.
The cloud abated. Afterwards he would remember nothing but the darkness that ebbed and flowed like the sea at high tide. The shadows flowed over the striking beach at sunset and drowned him, pulling him into the choking broiling sea where dark charred frames like the bones of some primal whale-like ancestor thrashed and floated. No minds behind actions and he envied them. For them, the abyss was nothing and everything.
And he forgot the colour of the sunset above the sea.
The drowned pale thing lay motionless, pitiful and beautiful, ghastly, lovely. His body was curled up upon himself, protective of himself, as if in that ebbing sea the years had been washed away and he was a boy again, a little dying boy with a closed, bruised eyelids and a pale little mouth, beautiful eyelashes curled upon the whiteness of his cheek, devastatingly dark, and terribly pure.
He was shrouded.
And his eyes opened in the dark.
When you look into the abyss,
The abyss also looks into you.
They fixed upon a stranger.
And held nothing.
Like a prince in a reverse fairytale he rose slowly, calmly, his cold, reptilian gaze fixed on the stranger, as he rose from the bed of crushed, bloodied grass. Without taking his eyes from his impromptu saviour he shifted the collar of his sailor’s shirt, dread causing his throat to close. Finally he glanced down, once to his pale, emaciated upper chest and saw that it was whole.
Cowardice.
He fixed his gaze at her again and his eyes glowed with feral righteousness, totally mad and totally sure. He bared his teeth at her and hissed like a serpent, and with a movement that lacked grace, a lunge that was little more than a muscular spasm, he grasped the dagger with its random flowers of crimson on silver and leaped towards her with the same total conviction of a leopard leaping on unaware passerby.
His fury gave out before he reached her and he collapsed at her feet, broken down by his grief, crying voicelessly, words lost. He snarled at her without words , the idiotic creature that had stolen him from his dark dream, that had returned him to this hell. Heaven was a fairy tale and hell was other people and soon he would die screaming, without dignity.
Without redemption.
The goddess that controlled life and death had cheated him.
“Kill you”, he murmured helplessly. His first words since returning from the cloud, and he spoke them with as much conviction as a toddler. Reborn.
“Kill you, goddess”.
And in that darkness when I'm blind
With what I can't forget
It's always morning in my mind
My little lamb, my pet.
Posted on 2008-02-24 at 20:43:43.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Yes.
He is with Zara!
Posted on 2008-02-16 at 16:46:57.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: My Friends...
Silence.
Septimus raced alone through the sea of blowing, unfathomless grass. Long shadows passed, and crossed, and covered him. Blinded and staggering he had run for two miles only to be driven into a dizzy spell of coughing. His heart pounded, and his limbs were touched with faintness. An ocean of yellow stretched before him, dotted with the rare islands of farmhouses, and all was silence. He had run from them until his heart was full to burst, thinking only of the distance he could place between them and him, had run until he had collapsed in the bracken, and had lain there like a wounded animal unto he regained the strength to stagger to his footing once more.
Shadows deepened and his trembling legs refused to carry him for another fruitless race. He lost his balance and collapsed unto his side, feeling the sweet impact of the earth against his weary body. His wild, hunted eyes closed as he lay there helplessly trying to muster enough strength to move on. The cries of the buzzard birds echoed in a private hell. They were waiting for him, calling for him. He was already marked for death.
This is my friend.
See how he glistens.
See this one shine...
How he smiles in the light.
My friend.
My faithful friend...
With shaking fingers he drew his dagger from its protecting sheath, hissing in agony as he carelessly allows it to slice through the soft flesh of his hand in his haste. Without venom but lethal, a weapon of honesty, it rested upon the flats of his palms. His cold gaze traced its perfect curves, caressed them with his eyes, knowing each design, each edge of the weapon. It winked at him knowingly in the light, promising deliverance.
Speak to me friend.
Whisper...
I'll listen.
I know, I know you've been locked
out of sight
all these years, like me
My friend...
well I've come home to find you waiting.
Home, and we're together!
And we'll do wonders.
Won't we?
You there, my friend?
He gripped it feverishly, the blind grip of a drowning man, casting a feral, wary gaze about him. If he would die, he would do so alone. He kissed the hilt with reverence. It would not the instrument of his death but the tool of his salvation. His little girl was waiting.
Come let me hold you.
Now, with a sigh, you grow warm in my hand.
My friend!
My clever friend...
He gazed into it once more, and it reflected his gaze like a mirror. His eyes stared back from hollows and yet they smiled. They would find him...He plunged towards the darkness in a faint of elation and bitter fear as the dagger flew towards his chest, towards his struggling, treacherous heart. A sudden sound caused him to hesitate for a split second as the voices of his fellowship rang fresh upon the air and the blade tore into his flesh, releasing blood dramatically, but falling shallowly, skirting the heart. Bleeding heavily, weakened, he sank to the earth in a widening pool of crimson, as the voices of his companions rang dully in his ears.
Rest now, my friend.
Soon, I'll unfold you.
Soon you'll know splendors
You never have dreamed
all your days,
my lucky friend
'Til now your shine was merely silver.
Friend, you shall drip rubies, you'll soon drip precious rubies...
Posted on 2008-02-12 at 21:45:04.
Edited on 2008-02-12 at 23:17:46 by Septimus Sandalwood
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: OOC
(( INTERNET'S UP!!!!!!!!!! Will have a post up tonight, a good long one. Septimus is of course, contemplating a terrible course. I expect he will meet up with his fellows tonight. HE`S BACK!!!!!! ))
Posted on 2008-02-12 at 11:55:22.
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Topic: Rylanor -- The Building of an Empire
Subject: Septimus`s Game
Somber and grave he walked, heavy-hearted and embraced within the folds of despair. He was a danger to them, he sensed, and like a cancerous tumor, he would rid himself of them, and they of him. For the good of his friends.
He turned towards the Village.
Posted on 2008-02-06 at 16:28:09.
Edited on 2008-02-12 at 23:05:12 by Septimus Sandalwood
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