I agree. I have enjoyed most of your postings but this went beyond just a story (nothing wrong with a good simple story though: ) ). This was far more philosophical and poetic. Bravo, and keep up the excellent work.
The Lonely Tailor takes the short story format far above and beyond what I ever believed possible. I actually read the story the day after you posted, but it has taken till today for me to be able to comment. I have been diagnosed as being chronically deppressed, and while I'm doing well now, with treatment, those last few paragraphs absolutely nailed the hell that deppression puts people through. A very remarkable story, thank you.
Thanks folks I mean it sincerely and am flattered you guys take the time to read them. Jakimo, I'm glad you're doing good and I hope things stay well for you.
And The Skies Fell... It happened on a cloudless night. The night air was chill in the gentle breezes the rustled the grasses of what was once the Plains of Karana. Peoples memories where short though, and with the destruction of the Rending and the only remaining piece of the once expansive Karana's had been renamed the Thundering Steppes. The long rolling thunderstorms of long ago still blew through these open plains and the people not having heard from their god Karana, or any other, in centuries had abandoned the old name for the new. It was bright and that made the Dark Elf monks job of shepherd all the easier with the light of the old moon Drinal high above glowing as brightly as ever. A casual scratch of his long elven ear as he leaned against the staff and gazed up at that sky. It was almost surreal he mused. The clarity was unlike anything he could remember in his over long life. Having seen nearly a thousand years now of days and nights, gods, almost a thousand years? None he could remember in that time was as clear as this. Such matters were not of import though and one of his flock of bawing sheep was taking it's leave having spotted some apparently tasty dandy lions away from it's friends. With a sigh and a shrug he moved looking ahead to the sheep to keep it in line. Suddenly he paused. He felt as though he had blinked and suddenly things did not look right. That odd feeling when something that is everyday is suddenly changed. He had not blinked. There was nothing amiss either, but something was not right. Sheep mulled, they became restless, agitated. They bumped and pushed one another. One rolled and that's when he noticed it. It rolled with not one dim shadow but two. Pale violet eyes flicked to the sky in an instant. There high above she shimmered out of the Veil. Luclin. "Impossible," escaped his lips in utter confusion. The Veil covered the long hidden moon. Said to have been placed in the sky to hide the goddess most precious jewel from the eyes of mortals. But long ago he had seen this veiled moon. Upon the planes, the one of Sky. His eyes would not move from that shimmering globe floating with utter serenity in the black star dotted sky. Shades of green and the flecks of orange where it had always seemed twilight. A patch of darkest gray, The Gray, where the moon itself was open to space and the evil Shissar of old Kunark had lived. "It is her, I can't believe it. Why now though? Why..," he broke off. The large marble of a moon shimmered again. No, didn't shimmer as if looked through a wave of heat, it shuttered. A violet shaking to the moons very core. "No..." It was instinct that made him look away when the arc danced across the surface like spidered brittle hand. Turning his eyes to the ground he covered the top of his face with an arm. The world went to soundless white. It held for only seconds that drug out forever. Looking up once again, his chest grew heavy. Luclin floated in jagged pieces. A field of mountain sized rock slowly spreading outward along her rotational plane, thrown by the forces of inertia. It was oddly beautiful in it's death. Never in his life would he expect to see a planet of the heavens die. That is exactly what this had been. A horrible realization came then, as he stared into the chill night, his flock scattering to the four corners. The pieces of that heavenly body, were moving in all directions. Directly for Norrath. "It's starting again!" Rage and anger built with in him and he threw the staff at the sky at the moon as though it would stop the pieces that even now hurtled to way last to the recovering world. "DAMN YOU! They've been through enough already! Let them live their lives! They live day to day with out their gods to guide them! They hold faith in you though you give them nothing but suffering and chaos! Their souls are tired, their hands raw from work! CURSE ALL THE GODS!" Almost as if answering, the air high above flashed as the shock wave struck the upper atmosphere. The magnetosphere compressed and an aurora of blazing colors burned across the sky and he could almost believe it was the angered gods reply. The compression sent a shock through the air and the ground rumbled. Then all was once more silent only the spinning broken globe high above. His jaw set. His eyes burned with angry tears. His heart went cold with defiance. "So is your answer. But we will beat you. And we will go on. With, or with out you. We challenged you before and we will challenge you again." Turning he ran, leaving the flock behind. He had to warn as many people before the sky burned with rocks and the shattered moon, hammered down up its sister Norrath.
Once again, a marvelous story. I wish I had even a small portion of the talent you possess. Thank you, sir.
The Seas Boiled The only constant on the rocky sea where two things. The constant smell of fish in all staged, alive to dead, and seagulls following along side the stout crab fishing boat that was braving the turbulent waters fifty miles off the coast. It was manned by would could only be considered the bravest men at sea or the most insane. Ropes and pulley's were strung about the ships rigging for both sails and fishing alike. A single mess placed step into a looped rope that could go taunt at any moment as the crap pots were flung over the side, and a man would meet his end upon the ocean floor under the cold crushing weight of untold pressure. The Misty Dream and her crew. Six regulars counting the shouting captain from the wheel house and one greenhorn, a Tier'Dal monk they had picked up at the harbor when the seventh regular, of all things, survived the open sea, but broke his ankle getting off the boat. That had been two months ago. A year ago, the moon of Luclin had shattered throwing itself at the world like some giant vicious child throwing stones at an ant hill. Craters marked the surface above, and below. Where thousands of tones of Luclin's surface and core had slammed into the oceans, water to this day still boiled in places. The destruction was uncountable to the ecosystems below the surface. All the fishermen knew was that for weeks after, dead sea life had washed to the shore daily. The smell was terrible with many fishing villages, already used to the marine smells of rotting flesh, were abandoned. Now, a year passed, Xannis found himself taken aboard. He had not been their first choice, or second, or likely even third. He had something the others didn't though. A willingness to brave the angry sea and knowledge of the Luclin moon. He had studied many of the great fragments once they cooled. The captain had deemed that worth while and taken him. His back ached, his muscles screamed as one cage like fishing pot was pushed over board after the other. Each square cage made just so that crabs could get into the bait inside, but not get out again until the pot was hauled to the boat, and emptied over it's precious cargo. Though, in the year since the Shattering, that cargo had become only more precious and all the more rare. The large schools of crab that skittered about the ocean had almost vanished. Indeed, most crab vessels had no longer been able to pay for loyal crews and forced into other work, the boat sold or left docked as a new house boat. The captain of the Misty Dream, however, was a man made of stubborn and stone. "Two months it's been Dark Elf, and you've been about as much luck as any other we've taken aboard. PAH!" He shouted from his wheel house, a burning cigar clenched in his teeth. Some how he always managed to shout, but never loosen that grip on the cigar. Xannis with two others was heaving a pot from the ocean floor. The giant cage's rope attacked to a crane that two men turned a crank to haul up while the other used a long rope and hook. He would fling it out into the ocean between two brightly painted sheep bladders inflated with air to mark the pots resting place on oceans dark floor. The boat sails half full of wind pushed the boat along creating small white cresting wives off her bow. One crank at a time, the pot came up above sea level. Empty, save the bait and one angry looking sea turtle. The ship worked no matter the day, large torches put up at night so they could work in the dark. In the down time, they would talk and eat and rest. The days passed like the ones before him, long hours and very short breaks and very few crab. Still the angry skipper pushed on. "Hell or high water, I'll not be giving up my lifes work so easily bucko, no siree. Old Captain Finnagin will die upon the sea and die fishin'!" It was an amazing sight to see. The pinch faced dark haired old sea salt, in his wheel house, a scowl on his face and that cigar clenched in his teeth. He would never give up. Gods rain down the very heavens upon him and he continued. Where other men fall and never rise again, this old Captain Finnagin would curse the gods with one hand and rub a lucky rabbits foot in the other. Indeed, Xannis had never seen a thing like it in his near thousand years of life. Trained as a monk for centuries in the worst conditions by the toughest of Masters. Seeing the people of the world over come the Age of Catastrophe. He had thought he had seen the the best in men, and the worst a spirit could suffer, before it was crushed. That was before he met this Captain of the Misty Dream. The man was all that was left of a family of fishermen in what was once a coastal fleet of ships. They had been out fishing for crab the night a year ago, when Luclin exploded. "The sky flashed in anger as the moon appeared all broken and glowin' like. Hours later, the seas grew angry. It doesn't take much to sink a boat, no sir, not much at all. And that night the sea and heavens threw it all at us. Lost half we did to the sea. The others limped back to shore. Gave up right then and there they did. Cowards one and all! I patched up me boat, took on me crew of those willing and set sail the next day. Just 'cause the sea be given up on me, don't mean I gave up on the sea!" And so, he had kept on. A perseverance and unbending. It was only a stroke of luck, but some say at sea, luck is as good as knowing, that found them finally. A gale wind had blown them off course with all their pots on board. A storm that made the old boat creak and snap as the wind and sea pounded her once more like that night a year ago. When she came out the other side, she was in a place of calm sea. Miles off course, it took some time for the captain to relocate their position. Taking the calm sea and clearing blue sky behind the angry black clouds, they set to work. From the sea burst forth crab in number untold. Never in thirty years of fishing had the captain nor any of his men found a bounty such as this. It took for men to the crane just to haul it up the cages near to bursting. What was once grueling back breaking work, seemed like the sun shining on a blind mans now seeing eyes for the first time. They ate well after that, and when they pulled into port all came away with more money than they had imagined possible, each crew member getting their share of the cut. As the fishermen kissed long waiting wives and smothered smiling children shouting, "Papa! Papa!" all there lives had changed because they had believed in a man's vision to never give up. That when it was the worst it could possibly get they followed a man that did not want for change in the world, but sought it. Made it happen. A man that knew how it could be and should be and that the bounty lay there, if only one was patient and strong enough to take it in both his hands. That man had been Captain Finnagin, of the Misty Dream. For those people aboard his vessel, that perseverance had paid off.
Nice man, though I think you've probably been watching a little too much of "Deadliest Catch" IMO. Or maybe influenced by PvP a bit? Either way your writing is NOT suffering. Still top-notch.
Either way, it was awesome. And on a different note...I now have a char on AB. Ok. It's awesome. *nods*
Yes to the first, i love that show. I actually don't read PvP but that was funny! It's amazing to me that people are even able to do that with the engines and pulls we have now, i can't imagine the way they used to do it like you hear some of these crab fisherman talk about their dads and grand dads. So yes, a homage to humans doing anything they set their mind on Thanks for the kind words and welcome to AB Alycs, as Stan Lee says, "I hope you survive the experience"
Xannis@Antonia Bayle wrote: *laughs* Actually...it's more along the lines of ... can AB survive the experience? So far, it looks like my poor Teir'Dal has already made an enemy ... or at least someone who really doesn't like her. lol All in all, I'm having a blast! I find I end up rping more in a day ... and RANDOM stuff ... than I do in a week on poor Vene. *sighs* There are a few things I miss from PvP ... but ... not much. Oh, if you see her ... Imnishialna is me.
Lovely stories, as always. I enjoy reading through them before I go off and blow my poor tonga up on pvp.. or try to hack off my Tier'Dal's cousin's head *Drexia aims her bow at Imni*
It's been many long months since I've been able to read anything on the Traveler's forums. Xannis, your stories are wonderful. Thank you so much for sharing them!
Honey Colored Eyes... "It's such a beautiful day," Verona Sai said in her soft cottony voice, her head tilted back just a little to take in the warmth of the sun on the brisk fall day. Hands clasped together at the nape of her back, fingers twined into a tight ball. The thin fabric of the sundress flowed around her form snuggly with a pattern of sun lillies. The light slipping through outlined her form darkly around a halo of rays that passed through the simple dress. Raven hair with long girls bounced as she giggled at the man eyeing her with a wry smirk. She was a vision. Tarlon Pindor lay in the browning grass and fallen orange and red leaves, back against the sturdy oak a few paces away. His rugged face was squared with just a touch of baby fat on his cheeks, which he tried to hide with unshaved stubble, giving him the look more of a dashing roque than a farmhands son. A muscled built pulled his tunic, unlaced, tight across his chest and one well defined arm hung lazily over his knee pulled in close. "Not half as beautiful as what I'm viewing." His voice was deep with out being booming and had a gentle kindness to it. Verona's cheeks went crimson as she saw the look in his eyes and she covered her mouth as she bit her lips. "Oh stop it, you... you... YOU!" Her nose scrunched between her eyes and she fussed and huffed. "Oh you are simply impossible!" Hands smoothed out wrinkles on her dress that did not exactly exist, but that did little to stop her from letting it occupy herself. He stood slowly to his feet and emptied the space between them in a handful of steps. The wind catching his brown ear length hair as it blew into his hazel eyes. A crooked finger brought her eyes the color of honey to his. Eyes so big and deep above her soft pale cheeks, he though himself able to swim in them, never finding one edge to the other. Her blush only deepened further. "I want you to remember this day, Verona. A day that will hold in your memory for all time...." He reached into his pocket and before he even had fished out the little package, her eyes brimmed with tears. "You are everything to me. Everything. And I want nothing more than to spend my life with you, not matter how long or short it is." Taking her hand in his, he went to bent knee. The other hand bringing out a small box that opened with a flip of his thumb. A modest ring of gold, inlayed with intertwining leaves and vines in it's center rest in side, "Marry me, Verona. Make me complete." There was no answer, at least not in words. One moment it was her honey eyes, the next, it was the sky as she barreled on him in a great hug driving his back to the ground and smothering his face with kisses. As is the way of the world though, a war was brewing in a distant land. A final battle to end all battles they old people said. The very survival of all things was said to rest in it's balance. The Rallosian army was on the march. An unstoppable force, a juggernaut that laid waste to the lands to the south of the tiny farm town. The life time, as it turned out, was only three months. The army of Freeport came to call. All able bodied men were needed. Tarlon kissed his wife. A kiss poets write entire plays about, just to get to that single moment of purest love and happiness, as well as saddest good-bye and deepest longing. "You becareful my husband... don't.. don't take any risks, you don't have too." Honey eyes filled with water but held their ground by strength of will and determination to be strong for this man she loved so much. Verona leaned into his strong hand with her cheek as callous fingers pulled back her hair to her ear. "I will come back to you... We will win this war, and return. Safe. I fight for you, Verona... and all our village." Leather armor adorned his muscled frame, a sword strapped to hip that didn't look comfortable with its owner. The men of the village were filling out of town to join the army on its way to Freeport in the hopes of out flanking the massive army allied against her walls. "I will think of you every day," he said with a last kiss before mounting his brown bay horse. "And I you." With parting words, he pulled the reigns and the horse around, leaving behind all he knew. It was over a month before word began to trickle in. The War was won. Victory for the allies of Qeynos and Freeport. The allied power of the human cities with it's allies in Felwithe and Kelethin and the battle hardened dwarves of Kaladim finally destroyed the Rallosian army with the help of histories greatest mystery, the Green Mist. The tolls were heavy though, for all nations. A week later, the first injured villager returned. A slow trickle of wounded and healthy men came back to what they had left. Once soft and simple eyes, hardened from war. Everyday Verona waited on the outskirts of the village. Eyes looking to the southeast with the rising of the sun. For a month, she did this. The first weeks trickle of men slowed. Each day, fewer and fewer returned. It wasn't until the last week, when none did. She lost hope. She would craddle her stomach and rock herself in the chair until sleep and exhaustion took her into its sweet release. Until one day a man entered the village wrapped head to toe in a brown cloak with many holes tearing the cloth. The dust of leagues stained the cloak as he made his way through the village. Eventually, finding his way to the home of Verona Sai Pindor. The wrap of a knuckle on the strong wooden door to their tiny home. Verona's eyes going wide as she opened it onto the figure in the cloak, her heart skipping as that ember of hope burst into a raging fire that lept into her throat, choking her voice. But the voice, the voice was not his, "Verona Sai Pindor?" Crestfallen, she nodded dimly, "Y... Yes, that is me." She gasped again as he removed the draw hat, holding it before his chest, almost shyly. Violet skin was covered by wispy locks of white gray hair before bright purple eyes. A Tier'Dal. She began to scream but he raised his arms and spoke in a hurried rush, "Please no.. I'm not here to hurt you... I fought with your husband." Perhaps it was the shock of his tone, or the sincere and pleading look in his eyes. Even the silly way he rung his straw hat in two purple hands. Whatever it was, he scream came out only as a squeek before she gained control. Then the words hit her. "You...?" Was all she could say. He nodded as she opened the door to let him in and he stepped in only enough for her to close it behind him, "Yes. I was with the Ashen Order during the Battle of Defiance. Your... Tarlon, was assigned with my unit as helper in getting supplies to the troops as needed. He spoke of you everyday. You are exactly how he said. I made him a promise," he reached into his cloak, removing an envelope. "I'm sorry, I couldn't get here sooner, but.... I'm afraid Tarlon was killed." The Tier'Dal only just managed to guide her to the nearest chair before her legs gave out. She had already known. Her heart, had told her when he did not return. The words struck her like a hammer all the same. "Wh.. wha...?" Honey eyes shed tears down her pale cheek. "He asked me, should anything happen, that I deliver his last words to you... and tell you what happened. He, became my friend, and I am honor bound to do my friends last wish." Numbly, she took the letter from his hand. Clumsy fingers unfolding the page with in. "Dearest Verona, I am sorry I could not keep my promise to you. Know that I love you and never anything but you. I think back to that day in the meadow that I proposed to you. You are so beautiful. You almost seemed to glow with inner light. My only regret, is that I will not be there to hold my child. I am sorry, my love. Yours in Eternity, Tarlon Pindor" Tears flowed freely from her eyes as her free hand rubbed her swollen belly. Reading the letter three more times, she finally looked up at her lost husbands friend. "What... is your name?" "Xannis Sul'Egna," he replied with a quiet voice that held a strength that belied the kind expression. Years passed. Verona Sai Pindor never remarried, though with her beauty she had many attempts. She live out her life, raising her only son to be a proud and strong boy. The Tier'Dal monk visited her and young Tarlon Jr. every few years. It was always a happy occassion for both family and friend. Stories of their friend and fathers brave deeds during the war and a wifes memory of the gentle farm boy, that had the hands of a farmer and the smile of a rogue.
Thanks Alycs It was inspired by Over the Rhines "Snow Angel" Which is a great christmas album in itself. I can't find a video of the song so, lyrics will have to do i suppose. Lyrics to Snow Angel : Once upon a winter It seems so long ago My one and only love and I Fell down upon the snow And as the dusk was falling From our gray and goose down sky We heard the old cathedral bells Ring out our lullaby Snow angel, snow angel Someday I’m gonna fly This cold and broken heart of mine Will one day wave goodbye Goodbye to this cruel wicked world And all the tears I’ve cried Snow angel, snow angel I’ll meet you in the sky The rumors of a distant war Called my true love’s name He packed his leather suitcase And spoke no word of blame We walked awhile together I tried to hide my fear He told me not to be afraid And whispered in my ear Snow angel, snow angel Someday I’m gonna fly This cold and broken heart of mine Will one day wave goodbye Goodbye to this cruel wicked world And all the tears I’ve cried Snow angel, snow angel I’ll meet you in the sky They brought my love home from the war In a cart pulled by white mules The Christmas bells rang out that day Oblivious as fools And as the snow began to fall I kissed his frozen face They told me in his woolen coat His last few words were placed Snow angel, snow angel Someday I’m gonna fly This cold and broken heart of mine Will one day wave goodbye Goodbye to this cruel wicked world And all the tears I’ve cried Snow angel, snow angel I’ll meet you in the sky
You brought to mind the day that I proposed to my Love. That alone makes this story wonderful. Great job as always.
Hates Basement I awoke from darkness to darkness. My senses returned slowly, reluctantly. The taste of warm copper was first. Followed by the pulsing of my beating heart in a swollen lip and as the rhythmic thumping grew faster, so did the pain. The sensation of pain spread from that busted lip to the back of my head, down my neck and back to my limbs. Bruises, dozens of them about the size of a fist. Lastly to return was sound, that of voices. They were angry mutters kept to a low hurried hush. Muscles ached and reacted as my mind came awake, they moved on their own with out order, causing the head to lull forward and then jerk violently as it attempted to compensate for its own falling weight. The voices went silent. Fabric rustled as the darkness was lifted from the lulling head. White flashed as light struck eyes that were adjusted to the dark they found themselves in and a pain spiked through them as they tried to compensate for the sudden intrusion into their once blackened universe. Blurry visions wavered as two dark figures began to materialize out of the white like black phantoms. A voice spoke in a lulled accent, “So yur finally awake. Good, good.†Swollen lips tried to talk past a dry throat that choked into a coughing fit. Another sensation returned in the form of binds. Arms and hands tied to numbness to the chair at his back. My legs and feet woven to the chair with thick rope. The coughing went on and as it did, I struggled against the bindings to no avail. “Yur not goin’ anywhere my little blue friend. Yur dark elf butt is ours now,†the voice said with its slow droll. The black phantoms came into focus as the coughing subsided. Two men, lean and well muscled. The speaker with a head of sandy blond hair and a hard look to leathered skin. The second brown hair with an unremarkable face one would not remember only moments after having just seen it. He looked nervous. Voice cracking, I hardly even recognized it as my own, “Whe…re? Wha…. Happen…†The only response was a laugh and the sudden motion of a black bag being placed back over my head just before a solid blow rang with a crack against the back of my skull and the darkness consumed me once again. I came too some time later with the feeling of a soft touch and a cool rag dabbing at my face. “Shhh, don’t move. I need to get you cleaned up.†The voice was a female, soft and caring with that same lulled accent the man had. There was the sound of a rag being dipped in water and wrung out. I realized my eyes where closed. It took some doing and one finally opened the other seemed to be swollen shut. Sloppy. They had beaten me while I was passed out. Whatever they are after they were amateurs. You do not inflict harm when the prisoner, that is what I was, a prisoner, can not feel it being done to him. It serves no purpose. This led me to the conclusion, “I didn’t do anything to you people. I’m just a wandering monk, not a Tier’Dal raider.†The dabbing rag paused, it was only a momentary thing but it was a pause. “I’m just here to clean you up,†her voice was quieter than even before. My single eye adjusted finally. She was human with her hair pulled back into a long thick black braid that hung over her shoulder dangling freely in the space between them. Her clothing was stander wools and cottons. Farmers clothing, maybe a merchant or cook. Whatever she was, this wasn’t her. She was a worker, not a healer. My single eye, puffy as it was locked onto hers. It’s funny what you notice but she had beautiful eyes of green. They were trying to avoid mine. “Clean me up, so they can torture me again, you mean?†“I got nothin’ to do with that,†she replied defensively. He bit off his first quip. Smart, I had to play this smart. “If that is what helps you sleep.†There, that should be just enough. I closed my eyes and let her finish the cleaning. She gave me some water and stale end of bread, moldy too. “Get rest.†Then she was gone with the sound of a wooden door and the click of a metal latch. Alone and awake, finally. It is nice being elven. Not only are the ears rather dashing, but they are fully functional to hear beyond what humans and many other small eared races could. Unfortunately I heard nothing at all beyond my own breath and the beat heart in my chest. The room was bare that I could see. The floor was dirt with wooden supports to hold up a wooden ceiling that rose ten feet above me. It was square as well; decent sized even, perhaps a basement. A new basement even as all the wood was brand new and the dirt seemed freshly dug. Even the smell of fresh wood and dirt was in the air now that I was looking. That made the only way in and out the door that latched behind me. My wrists turned and squirmed inside the bindings. Leather cords. Farmers always knew their knots and their bindings. Working with pack animals all day will do that. Still, this was not impossible. Surviving comes down to only a hand full of things. Firstly, is to keep a clear mind and not panic. Panic is what gets people killed. In a burning building, for instance, instinct is to retrace your steps and leave the way you came in. If you get a hundred people doing that and ignoring the other less obvious ways out that simple observation would have given them and suddenly a fire that should have had no fatalities has as forty people dead from being trampled and burning. Observation would be another. Just being aware that anything is possible and marking exits or water sources at a bon fire can be the difference between life and death. When a hostage and being tortured, patience is another, however the most important of all things when in a situation like this is not to loose hope. Hope of survival, something to cling to and live for will keep even the most unprepared individual alive in the hottest desert far beyond the point he should have been able to keep breathing. I’ve seen it in T’Narev during my training in the deserts of Ro and it applied here now. The only thing to do was play it slow, find out what they wanted, or thought they had. Time would loosen the binds eventually, but for now, it was time to rest. It was easier than usual to slip into a healing meditative state and from there, sleep came easily. I’m not sure how long I was out. In my head it felt like I had just closed my eyes but the crick in my neck told me at least a couple hours. I woke to what sounded like a bomb going off as one of the two kicked the door open and it crashed against the wooden wall. I could see the shadow on the wall before me, outlined by the light that came in from the door behind. So, it was below ground, but whatever was above was small enough for the sun to get down here fairly bright. Another thing to hold onto. “I don’t know who you think you have but you’ve got the wrong…†The back of my skull was introduced to something blunt that stopped my tongue as the sandy blond haired man, Sandy, from here on out, came around the back of the chair, holding a small bit of rounded wood to hit me with apparently. His face was smug, a man who has power and thinks it means something when the other person is tied up and has it coming. Which of course, I didn’t. “Ya, we heard it from her. I figure you’re using your Tier’Dal ways on her, sneaking into her mind and making her see you for what you ain’t.†He just had it all figured out, didn’t he? Moron. He went on, “Well, it won’t make any difference, even if you were right, only proves you where part of it. Not so smart now are ya?†I sighed and shook my head. Frustration as I was learning, held levels of degree and this country lout was already pushing to unknown heights. He must have taken that for confession he had it right because, “That’s right. You and your little raider buddies have been preying on our area long enough; we’ll stretch you on a stake to warn ‘em away. I knew you were one of them, a scout or somethin’, when I saw you on the road. No one throws a sling like me. Yur Inkie magic’s don’t mean much when you’re out clod now does it?†I thought of trying to explain that I was only passing through, that, in fact I was on my way to this area BECAUSE of the Tier’Dal raids on this area. I needed the money, and who better to take out Tier’Dal than another of their own, there’s no one for them to go after in retaliation. Instead, I was ambushed by Sandy here, likely one of the very people I had come to help. And people say gratitude is dead. I was waking up, that hazing fog of forced awareness to quickly fading as I looked at this man. I’ve seen hatred before. I, myself, have been there countless times. And here before me Hate stood like a looming beast from the void once again. What made this stick out in my mind with only a hand full of others was his face. This man was not a killer, or at least he hadn’t been. He was lean but his cheek, his general manner he had lead a hard working life, but a good one. Likely friends and family, maybe even a couple of children. Now though, hatred and fear had gripped his heart and like a tsunami it had washed over his entire life’s history and sullied the ones pure water and as the tsunami retreated, it left only the shattered debris on a now scared landscape. I felt pity for him. And as tired as I still was, my face must have let that slip. Sandy looked suddenly shaken. “What?! You look at … you look at me like yur sorry for me!†He shouted, took a step forward. “Not sorry. Pity.†My dry voice responded. The next thing I know was being punched, kneed, and kicked repeatedly. It was hap hazard though, no direction… he had just lost it. It hurt, true, but even for a farm this man was no fighter. I just did my best to keep my head down and suck it up until he tired, or I passed out. Turns out, he got tired, and then I passed out. Win for me? (Cont in next post)
