(no subject)
Title:WIP#2 Pt.2
Genre:Fantasy
Characters: Veyriell and a whole slew of others
Rating:PG (overall will be NC-17)
Summary:
The mist was back when I drifted back into the word of the living again. The light was softer though, the grey-green that told of coming storms, and offered little illumination. The little wagon swayed slightly in the wind, making lighting a candle or lantern somewhat dangerous.
I looked around, dazedly, trying to recall my return to the bed. A spill of silver over a scarlet satin pillow caught my attention and I was surprised to find the old woman asleep on the floor near the bed. I looked away, guilt washing over me as I realized she had given up her bed for days now to a half-dead child of Shandriss.
“You’re awake.” A voice said gently, as one might speak to a fearful animal, soothing and unthreatening. I looked up with a start, shifting into a half sitting position. A narrow well was set into the wall adjacent to my bed, extending out over the wheel on that side. A surprising number of pillows and blankets were tucked into the well and from them peered laughing brown eyes almost directly above me.
A long plait of golden hair escaped the nest of blankets, slithering down the wall, stopping just above the pillow my head had rested upon moments before. A slight shift and a blanket spilled out of the nest, the corner catching on my bed and the rest falling to the floor. The girl leaned forward, ignoring her loss of blanket in favor of studying me. Balancing herself on the frame of my bed she put her face near enough to mine that I could’ve counted the dark freckles decorating the bridge of her nose and tops of her cheeks.
She seemed to find something she liked in my face for she smiled brightly and cocked her head to the side.
“I’m Sylta.” She nodded as if confirming the information. “My grandmamma found you. She’s still training me but someday I will be the wise woman for our clan.” She smiled toothily and shifted back into her nest ere she lose her balance.
I looked at her with some confusion. Her words were full of childish pride yet her face and body told that she was some years older than myself, old enough to be sworn were she committed to a different training, training such as my own. Yet she spoke with the confident naiveté of someone half her years. Though she was obviously more intelligent than she seemed for how was it that she spoke the common tongue when her grandmamma did not? Or at least had not yet shown herself to know it.
“Well? What’s your name? It’s only polite to offer your own name when someone offers theirs.” She continued, somewhat huffily, giving me the sternest look she could manage. I opened my mouth to speak but when the effort of a whisper was enough to bring tears to my eyes I knew speech was still beyond the limited capabilities of my damaged vocal chords. I put a hand to my throat and shook my head, hoping she would understand.
Her face fell and suddenly I could believe her to be the age of her body. The serious expression adding years to her instantly. I blinked in surprise at the change. She offered me a small smile though and the shadow lifted from her face.
“Grandmama had hoped the mist from the filaius plant would help heal you. When she first brought you here it hurt just to hear you breathe but now you’ve been breathing well for nearly two days. She’d thought it might aid your throat and vocal chords as well but…” She looked down, unwilling to meet my eyes. She couldn’t possibly mean… the damage is just more extensive than they had originally thought, she can’t mean. I refused to even let myself think it. There was a weighted silence before she scrambled out of her nest, sliding down in an avalanche of wool and velvet.
“Can you write?” She asked over her shoulder as she pawed through a box set against the corner where our beds met. I simply watched her unable to answer until she triumphantly withdrew a small sheet of rough paper and a stubby block of charcoal. She held the items out, finally looking at me. I smiled, nodding slightly, and she promptly shoved them at me, bounding onto the bed beside me, making me draw my feet up quickly lest they be sat upon.
We sat like that for some time her asking questions and me writing my responses as small as possible to conserve space. I told her my name, Veyriell, as well as my home at the temple. I told her of Aurelie though no words I knew could describe my beautiful Aurelie. Meanwhile, the threatening storm blew in. It howled and raged, rocking the wagon and darkening the sky until we could barely see the parchment.
When the storm finally cleared, what must’ve been hours later, Sylta stood from my bed and nudged at the old woman. Slowly, and with much coaxing, the woman rose from beneath her mound of blankets and pillows.
It was strange at first, both my inability to speak as well as life among the gypsies. Sylta and I became fast friends, yet the only thing we had in common was being outsiders. Gypsies are hardly a trusting lot and Sylta had been raised by her father, a silversmith from Durock, before “coming of age”. She was not much older than myself when her grandmother, Talia, sought her out but even being the wise-woman’s granddaughter did not endear the other children to her.
Despite the rest of the tribe’s uneasiness Talia had taken in three strays, Sylta, myself, and the demon child that had set the prophecy in motion. Then, of course, I knew nothing of the prophecy. What I did know was that the adults whispered and gossiped about us. That conversations hushed when any of the three of us were present. Because of this Sylta and I took it upon ourselves to watch out for the demon boy. His mother, a priestess from my own temple, named him Tiassyr ere the High Priestess ordered the half-blooded creature to be killed. As it happened there were those that were fearful of killing the child and so had passed him into Talia’s care.
In spite of the gossip mongering of the clan those were happy times. The three of us grew close, Sylta and I protecting T’syr, as we called him, from the other children. More her than me though for even at her young age she worked their ancient magics skillfully. Talia called her a prodigy to other clans with a fierce pride. Our protection was quickly proved pointless, however, when it became apparent that the demon blood in him allowed him to age far faster than a human child. By the time we parted, years later, he was nearing his own majority. Talia believed his progression would slow to less than a human’s at that time.
We traveled from place to place, as was the way of the gypsies. Every city, every village, I would go into every Temple of Shandriss and ask for news of my Aurelie but it was to no avail. Still, I never gave up hope that she had made it out alive. Though I did not find Aurelie I did learn much of what had set in motion the tumultuous events that had become my life.
A demon lord in human form had taken the service of one of our priestesses. The result had been T‘syr. When he had learned of his son and much desired heir, only to discover that the child had been abandoned to the forest he was furious. It shamed me to know that our High Priestess’s incompassion had been the reason for the destruction of so many lives, and very possibly of my Aurelie as well. Due to the circumstances surrounding the attack and the increased presence of demon forces in the area there were no plans to rebuild the Temple of Etella.
I once asked Talia if we could go back to that place. She told me that I would one day but it would not be by her doing. I stayed with them for nearly four years before I surrendered my search for Aurelie. My sixteenth birthday was fast approaching and if I were to complete my training and give myself to the goddess Shandriss I had very little time. So when we came to Koridon I bid farewell to my friends and devoted myself to the service of the goddess once more.
Genre:Fantasy
Characters: Veyriell and a whole slew of others
Rating:PG (overall will be NC-17)
Summary:
The mist was back when I drifted back into the word of the living again. The light was softer though, the grey-green that told of coming storms, and offered little illumination. The little wagon swayed slightly in the wind, making lighting a candle or lantern somewhat dangerous.
I looked around, dazedly, trying to recall my return to the bed. A spill of silver over a scarlet satin pillow caught my attention and I was surprised to find the old woman asleep on the floor near the bed. I looked away, guilt washing over me as I realized she had given up her bed for days now to a half-dead child of Shandriss.
“You’re awake.” A voice said gently, as one might speak to a fearful animal, soothing and unthreatening. I looked up with a start, shifting into a half sitting position. A narrow well was set into the wall adjacent to my bed, extending out over the wheel on that side. A surprising number of pillows and blankets were tucked into the well and from them peered laughing brown eyes almost directly above me.
A long plait of golden hair escaped the nest of blankets, slithering down the wall, stopping just above the pillow my head had rested upon moments before. A slight shift and a blanket spilled out of the nest, the corner catching on my bed and the rest falling to the floor. The girl leaned forward, ignoring her loss of blanket in favor of studying me. Balancing herself on the frame of my bed she put her face near enough to mine that I could’ve counted the dark freckles decorating the bridge of her nose and tops of her cheeks.
She seemed to find something she liked in my face for she smiled brightly and cocked her head to the side.
“I’m Sylta.” She nodded as if confirming the information. “My grandmamma found you. She’s still training me but someday I will be the wise woman for our clan.” She smiled toothily and shifted back into her nest ere she lose her balance.
I looked at her with some confusion. Her words were full of childish pride yet her face and body told that she was some years older than myself, old enough to be sworn were she committed to a different training, training such as my own. Yet she spoke with the confident naiveté of someone half her years. Though she was obviously more intelligent than she seemed for how was it that she spoke the common tongue when her grandmamma did not? Or at least had not yet shown herself to know it.
“Well? What’s your name? It’s only polite to offer your own name when someone offers theirs.” She continued, somewhat huffily, giving me the sternest look she could manage. I opened my mouth to speak but when the effort of a whisper was enough to bring tears to my eyes I knew speech was still beyond the limited capabilities of my damaged vocal chords. I put a hand to my throat and shook my head, hoping she would understand.
Her face fell and suddenly I could believe her to be the age of her body. The serious expression adding years to her instantly. I blinked in surprise at the change. She offered me a small smile though and the shadow lifted from her face.
“Grandmama had hoped the mist from the filaius plant would help heal you. When she first brought you here it hurt just to hear you breathe but now you’ve been breathing well for nearly two days. She’d thought it might aid your throat and vocal chords as well but…” She looked down, unwilling to meet my eyes. She couldn’t possibly mean… the damage is just more extensive than they had originally thought, she can’t mean. I refused to even let myself think it. There was a weighted silence before she scrambled out of her nest, sliding down in an avalanche of wool and velvet.
“Can you write?” She asked over her shoulder as she pawed through a box set against the corner where our beds met. I simply watched her unable to answer until she triumphantly withdrew a small sheet of rough paper and a stubby block of charcoal. She held the items out, finally looking at me. I smiled, nodding slightly, and she promptly shoved them at me, bounding onto the bed beside me, making me draw my feet up quickly lest they be sat upon.
We sat like that for some time her asking questions and me writing my responses as small as possible to conserve space. I told her my name, Veyriell, as well as my home at the temple. I told her of Aurelie though no words I knew could describe my beautiful Aurelie. Meanwhile, the threatening storm blew in. It howled and raged, rocking the wagon and darkening the sky until we could barely see the parchment.
When the storm finally cleared, what must’ve been hours later, Sylta stood from my bed and nudged at the old woman. Slowly, and with much coaxing, the woman rose from beneath her mound of blankets and pillows.
It was strange at first, both my inability to speak as well as life among the gypsies. Sylta and I became fast friends, yet the only thing we had in common was being outsiders. Gypsies are hardly a trusting lot and Sylta had been raised by her father, a silversmith from Durock, before “coming of age”. She was not much older than myself when her grandmother, Talia, sought her out but even being the wise-woman’s granddaughter did not endear the other children to her.
Despite the rest of the tribe’s uneasiness Talia had taken in three strays, Sylta, myself, and the demon child that had set the prophecy in motion. Then, of course, I knew nothing of the prophecy. What I did know was that the adults whispered and gossiped about us. That conversations hushed when any of the three of us were present. Because of this Sylta and I took it upon ourselves to watch out for the demon boy. His mother, a priestess from my own temple, named him Tiassyr ere the High Priestess ordered the half-blooded creature to be killed. As it happened there were those that were fearful of killing the child and so had passed him into Talia’s care.
In spite of the gossip mongering of the clan those were happy times. The three of us grew close, Sylta and I protecting T’syr, as we called him, from the other children. More her than me though for even at her young age she worked their ancient magics skillfully. Talia called her a prodigy to other clans with a fierce pride. Our protection was quickly proved pointless, however, when it became apparent that the demon blood in him allowed him to age far faster than a human child. By the time we parted, years later, he was nearing his own majority. Talia believed his progression would slow to less than a human’s at that time.
We traveled from place to place, as was the way of the gypsies. Every city, every village, I would go into every Temple of Shandriss and ask for news of my Aurelie but it was to no avail. Still, I never gave up hope that she had made it out alive. Though I did not find Aurelie I did learn much of what had set in motion the tumultuous events that had become my life.
A demon lord in human form had taken the service of one of our priestesses. The result had been T‘syr. When he had learned of his son and much desired heir, only to discover that the child had been abandoned to the forest he was furious. It shamed me to know that our High Priestess’s incompassion had been the reason for the destruction of so many lives, and very possibly of my Aurelie as well. Due to the circumstances surrounding the attack and the increased presence of demon forces in the area there were no plans to rebuild the Temple of Etella.
I once asked Talia if we could go back to that place. She told me that I would one day but it would not be by her doing. I stayed with them for nearly four years before I surrendered my search for Aurelie. My sixteenth birthday was fast approaching and if I were to complete my training and give myself to the goddess Shandriss I had very little time. So when we came to Koridon I bid farewell to my friends and devoted myself to the service of the goddess once more.