Back and forth. Back and forth.
A shivering form rocks back and forth in the corner of one bed in the lonely upper level of the hospital. No noise comes from her but the quiet creaking of the bed frame as it shakes with every slow, repetitive motion. One may look into her eye staring across the room unblinkingly, but it does not look back. There’s no longer any recognition in that eye. No spark of life. The only sign of life is the steady rhythm of a soul on the breaking point.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
((sorry forgot to mention, open to any))
Steady Rhythm
Moderator: Gamemasters
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Elle Hartstone
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 12:45 am
- Location: Crossroads of America
Re: Steady Rhythm
With her usual dream of cave and captivity abruptly awakening her, Kyre opens near ebony eyes to gaze up at the starry night briefly admiring the two moons before stretching amid the rustling of leaves. Holding out her ungloved hand, she floats to the ground from a large branch in the tree while frowning seeing the empty glade.
I should use a hex to keep him here but he'd probably get angry and the lesson last time was quite interesting.
Briefly touching her lips with a grin, Kyre jumps into a portal to the library, then turns toward Eliza's yet her steps abruptly halt as long pointed ears twitch hearing a faint noise in the otherwise quiet town. Following the rhythmic noise, she looks up at a building not previously entered and tilts her head in puzzlement. Holding out her hand, the door opens with a fairly loud creak yet the sound never varies, the noise quite loud now as Kyre floats up the ladder. This one was different then other humans she saw and also seemed to be unaware she was being studied by the witch. Perhaps it was worth staying for a little?(( am hoping I am correct that she is human ))
I should use a hex to keep him here but he'd probably get angry and the lesson last time was quite interesting.
Briefly touching her lips with a grin, Kyre jumps into a portal to the library, then turns toward Eliza's yet her steps abruptly halt as long pointed ears twitch hearing a faint noise in the otherwise quiet town. Following the rhythmic noise, she looks up at a building not previously entered and tilts her head in puzzlement. Holding out her hand, the door opens with a fairly loud creak yet the sound never varies, the noise quite loud now as Kyre floats up the ladder. This one was different then other humans she saw and also seemed to be unaware she was being studied by the witch. Perhaps it was worth staying for a little?(( am hoping I am correct that she is human ))
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Elle Hartstone
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 12:45 am
- Location: Crossroads of America
Re: Steady Rhythm
The young woman remains curled up into a ball in the corner, unresponsive to the visitor's scrutiny if she even notices another living presence. Her pallid face, blank as her stare, does not turn toward the new arrival as she moves about the room. The black cloth tied around her head may as well be covering both her eyes for all that her deadened gaze perceives. If one was to approach the form, she would appear to be shaking violently, though the room is quite warm and she does not seem to be feverish. Still, she continues to rock back and forth like a helpless child, her arms wrapped around her knees as if to protect herself from what, no one knows.
Re: Steady Rhythm
Light fading rapidly, Oxi paces the streets of Bane searching for the one who may hold some answers. Still shaken by his confrontation with Tirri and his sudden disappearance into the night, wild thoughts rush through his head. Passing through the tavern, he nods an anxious greeting to Borgate before having a quiet word to find nothing has been heard of either of them. With no luck he crosses the stream, heading towards the hospital. Why was Tirri so glad he hadn't seen her, surely he couldn't have hurt her? Oxi shakes his head vigorously, no he had been adamant about that, he was leaving to protect them.
Re: Steady Rhythm
Continuing her scrutiny for long minutes watching the actions of the woman, Kyre's curiosity remains unsatisfied with the repetitive actions. Perhaps the woman has had a hex placed on her? If so, it would take time to find any cure if there even was one knowing hexes are very individualized. Simple to do would be the mage spell for healing though Kyre had little hope it would work as her ungloved hand raises and points toward the woman while whispering words in ancient sending the spell toward her amid bright green light.
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Elle Hartstone
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 12:45 am
- Location: Crossroads of America
Re: Steady Rhythm
The healing light does little more than relax the shaking and lull her into a deep sleep. It's now become obvious that nothing ails her physically. Her face, unreadable while awake, has pulled into a pained grimace as she sleeps. Sadly, it seems that she is better off in the painful grasp of her nightmares than the nothingness that occupies her waking hours.
Re: Steady Rhythm
Still learning about people and races, Kyre finally recognizes one expression on the woman, the grimace almost universal. Moving to the head of the bed, only distracted briefly gazing out the window as a man crosses the stream, Kyre walks to a chair and lays her unmoving gloved hand on her lap as she sits. Leaning forward to whisper in the woman's ear, she carefully places a strange black feather on top of the bed.
Tell me what you see.
Tell me what you see.
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PurpleMonkeys
- Posts: 631
- Joined: Wed Jan 28, 2009 9:58 pm
Re: Steady Rhythm
Tirrend paced back and forth, pulling at his hair with one hand as the other constantly gripped his sword hilt. He had torn his thoughts away from Elle, too hurt by his own actions. He looked off to the west often, muttering. "I mustn't hurt them.. they need to be protected. From me." Soon afterwards he may be caught gathering a few things and quickly leaving with hood drawn up, through the south gate. "I must drive it away." He uttered before he crossed out into the wilderness.
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Elle Hartstone
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 12:45 am
- Location: Crossroads of America
Re: Steady Rhythm
((Warning: There are some fairly gruesome descriptions in here. Nothing too bad, but I don’t suggest reading over lunch.))
The light in the room ripples and all of the sudden an image is superimposed upon the room.
Scenes and images flash and swirl together too fast to see at first, blocking out the rest of the room until it disappears completely. When the chaotic visuals settle the small hospital room has vanished, and the scenery becomes that of a forest clearing. One can see the woman approaching a well in the late evening, lantern held up near her face, casting a long shadow against the well. She sets the light on the ground near the base of the well as she moves to raise some water. Without the light the bottom of the well is hidden from view by the dimness of the starless night. She pulls the rope up slowly, sluggish in each movement as if she is reluctant to finally draw the bucket out of the well. Several long moments later, it comes into her hands but leaves them almost as quickly. With a gasp, the woman drops the bucket back down into the depths of the well, falls backwards, and scrambles away from the mess of red that has spilled from it onto the well’s rim, staining its stones crimson.
The rope shakes violently as something within the well strains it. A shuffling, scratching noise can be heard ascending the well as the woman continues to back away in terror. A dark figure climbs over the blood-stained stones, stretching itself out to full height in front of her. The woman opens her mouth in a silent scream, shaking her head furiously in denial. As the dark figure steps into the light, his form is revealed to be that of a very young man, gruesomely disfigured by the orcish ax protruding from the center of his chest. Even in the poor lighting one can see the pallor of death and the blood dripping from the weapon embedded in him. Slowly he walks forward and turns his piercing golden gaze to the petrified woman who has long since frozen in fear.
‘Where is my daughter?’ the voice rasps like sand against dry parchment.
‘She..she’s,' the woman whispers, trembling too much to continue.
‘Where is my daughter!’ the specter demands harshly, pulling the ax out of his chest with a spray of red dousing the woman and her surroundings. He points it at her menacingly.
‘You have failed Elle. Failed!’ he roars as the ax comes back behind his head in a high arc prepared to come down and cleave her in two. She screams.
Before the ax can fall however, the image starts to flash and colors appear where only darkness had previously been. The sound of the scream is washed out by a loud rush of wind. The visual tableau surges in every direction as color and light pours in from nothingness. As suddenly as it began, the disorienting experience ends, and a small cozy dining room appears.
At the table sits a small, curly haired blonde girl marking up a length of parchment with a stick of charcoal. The woman walks into the room carrying a tray of drinks. When she comes into the child’s field of vision, the little girl giggles and beams, clapping her hands excitedly. Her golden eyes light up as she waits for the woman to set the tray down.
‘Come on mommy, you pwomised you’d dwaw with me,’ she says with a childhood inability to pronounce every word properly.
The woman smiles fondly and nods, pouring some tea from a kettle into two cups. The girl takes her smaller yellow cup with a bright gap-toothed smile and takes several large gulps. Raising her own cup to her mouth for a sip, the woman stops. The child has started to cough violently, grabbing at her throat. With a loud shatter, the woman’s cup drops to the stone floor as she rushes to the choking girl. She reaches the girl’s side just in time for the little one to collapse limply against the table.
‘Erilyn! Erilyn, no!’ she calls frantically as she gently places the child on the stone floor and tries to clear the little girl’s airways. Her efforts produce no effect on the small, still form.
As the now crying woman continues to desperately search for life in the child, a shadow passes over the two. The gentle sound of a lute strumming can be heard from a dark corner of the room.
‘It’s no use, loverly,’ a gentle, melodious voice says as a figure steps into the light to give it substance. He walks over to the chair flung backwards by the woman in her previous haste and puts a foot up on one of its legs, still strumming a lilting melody on his instrument. The woman’s eye snaps to his face in shock, shielding the body of the girl in a vain attempt to protect her. The brown haired youth laughs cruelly at her pathetic attempt and kicks the chair away, walking towards the woman until she’s trapped against the wall of the room. He kneels next to her with a malicious smirk.
‘Do you want to know how I know it’s no use?’ he asks in a sing-song voice. Drawing a small, empty vial from a pouch at his belt, he shakes it in front of her tauntingly. The woman is too scared to respond to his question, so he answers it himself. ‘Because I only lasted a few seconds after I used this poison on myself!’ He shouts in her face viciously throwing the vial against the wall and shattering it.
‘All you had to do was let me be there for you. I did everything for you! You and her,’ he says with a sneer toward the small body clutched in the woman’s arms.
‘You wouldn’t even let me be there for it. For her! So now she doesn’t get to be here either!’
The man throws his head backwards in maniacal laughter before it cuts off abruptly in a horribly familiar coughing fit. He clutches at his throat as he falls backwards. The woman watches with a wide eye filled with shock and terror as the man begins to choke. A sickening green substance starts to seep out of the corners of his mouth, then his nose, and then his eyes until the poison color leaks from every visible orifice. The woman pulls the child away from the growing puddle of liquid ebbing toward them. The man’s frame seems to draw tightly together, every feature becoming more sunken and skeletal until he resembles nothing but a dried husk of a man. Still, he manages to open his eyes once more and glare at her in hatred.
‘Your fault,’ is the last thing the once beautiful voice rasps.
Before she can respond the scene shifts and colors again violently burst through random points in the room until it is totally obscured. The swirling spectacle ends only for the main square in Troll’s Bane to appear. Snow is on the ground and a bitter wind whips around, blowing a single sheet of parchment around on a whim. The town is quiet, seemingly deserted. A massive boulder rests just off the side of the road near the campfire. The woman walks down the road to the shops, coat drawn tightly about her frame. She pauses as she beholds the boulder and her eye widens. Hurriedly, the woman makes her way to the boulder and attempts to shake it. Snow falls off, revealing the boulder to be an enormous man, frozen half to death, shallowly breathing and unresponsive. As she shifts him, a letter falls from his grasp.
Upon investigation, the letter appears to be nothing more than a jumble of nonsense symbols, but one word is scripted clearly in bold, red writing:
DIVORCE
Ignoring the letter, the woman pulls off her coat and covers him with it, calling out for help. Slowly a person approaches, then two, until an entire crowd of spectators forms a circle around the pleading woman. She attempts to lift his upper body from the ground into her lap, but his size makes it too difficult. His breathing becomes shallower by the minute and all color drains from his face. Just as the sound of breathing disappears, the man opens his eyes in a baleful gaze and reaches up with one hand and the remnants of the other before seizing. The life fades from his eyes as the weeping woman watches his last moments, shaking her head in furious denial.
Suddenly the crowd stirs.
‘Wretch’
‘Harlot’
‘Liar’
‘Cheater’
‘Murderer’
‘Murderer’
‘Murderer!’
It becomes their chant as they sway around the woman. The sky grows dark and fiery torches glow from within the rapidly developing mob. The woman cries out for mercy as she clutches the body of the man only to find that his form has become insubstantial - likened to the snow on which he once rested. A swift breeze comes through and robs the grasping woman of her last remnants of comfort as the crowd closes in.
Again the setting changes with an onslaught of light and sensation. Barren trees with deadened leaves creak in a cold wind. A ragged figure drags itself along on its stomach through the desolate forest. The woman approaches, breaking through brambles and trying to push the underbrush out of her path in her wild attempt to reach the figure. She is almost clear when a tree drops several branches further blocking her path.
‘Elle. Elle,’ the pathetic creature whimpers as he resolutely drags himself onward. She calls out to him.
‘I’m here! Please!’
He doesn’t hear her, just pulling himself forward by some godly level of single-minded determination. The woman continues calling to him until she sees a rabbit hop toward him innocently. Her calls become frenzied as she shouts warnings and struggles to get through the ever increasing tangle of branches and bushes. The rabbit turns to her and opens its mouth in a wicked smile, showing a full set of razor sharp teeth. The rabbit morphs into a giant demon and seizes the pitiful man. He screams in terror, not a plea for mercy or help, but a name.
‘Elle!’
The demon creates a portal and throws him into it as the woman screams helplessly. Turning to give her one last smile, the demon points to her before stepping through the passage to his dark realm. The portal closes with a colossal explosion of color and light. When it clears, the woman is standing in the middle of Troll’s Bane once again. This time however, the gentle spring air plays with the wavy tendrils of her hair. The cloth usually tied around her right eye is missing, revealing a glass replica. The brilliant emerald embedded within it clashes with the pale green of her other eye.
The woman seems peaceful, and at ease as she walks along the path toward the workshops. Again, the town appears quite deserted. As she walks past the hospital, voices can be heard coming from the direction of the cross. The woman hurries that way, the calm expression replaced with one of anxiety.
As she turns the corner by the Sea Horse, she freezes. A host of faceless women surround a man in crimson robes with a flaming sword at his belt. The ice-blue of his unseeing eye matches the emerald green of hers. Slowly, deliberately, the woman inches toward him. The faceless women move around him with sensuous, graceful elegance. He glares at her harshly.
‘You’re not wanted.’
She freezes mid step. All traces of her former peaceful mood dashed to pieces like paper ships on the rocks of a stormy beach. The woman’s features twist in pain at the proclamation.
‘I’ve had better before, and I’ll have better again,’ he says as the women mock and throw jeers at her.
‘Who could love a liar, a whore,’ he walks up close to her still form until he can whisper in her ear, ‘a killer?’
With those words he takes the flaming sword and plunges it into her stomach, letting her fall to her knees. She looks up at him miserably as the blood flows from her, the life flowing from her eye at the same rate. Slowly she weakens and tumbles to her side, closing her eyes against the tears. The loud mocking of the women is joined by the cruel laughter of the man. The woman’s eyes open. The pale green one is now unseeing, but the emerald green eye holds the same brilliance as ever - seeing more now than it ever did in life.
The image shifts for the final time, the color play and lights masking the transition in scenery until the hospital room reemerges. The woman lies motionless in the bed but for the rise and fall of her chest. Perhaps now the expression on her face is more easily understood. Perhaps someone can begin to understand. Perhaps they can help make the nightmares go away and the memories disappear.
Perhaps she won’t be forever condemned to suffer the wraiths of her past.
((Sorry it was so long. Just to clear things up, everything in here was a dream and only her perception of certain situations. This is not to be taken as fact or history.))
The light in the room ripples and all of the sudden an image is superimposed upon the room.
Scenes and images flash and swirl together too fast to see at first, blocking out the rest of the room until it disappears completely. When the chaotic visuals settle the small hospital room has vanished, and the scenery becomes that of a forest clearing. One can see the woman approaching a well in the late evening, lantern held up near her face, casting a long shadow against the well. She sets the light on the ground near the base of the well as she moves to raise some water. Without the light the bottom of the well is hidden from view by the dimness of the starless night. She pulls the rope up slowly, sluggish in each movement as if she is reluctant to finally draw the bucket out of the well. Several long moments later, it comes into her hands but leaves them almost as quickly. With a gasp, the woman drops the bucket back down into the depths of the well, falls backwards, and scrambles away from the mess of red that has spilled from it onto the well’s rim, staining its stones crimson.
The rope shakes violently as something within the well strains it. A shuffling, scratching noise can be heard ascending the well as the woman continues to back away in terror. A dark figure climbs over the blood-stained stones, stretching itself out to full height in front of her. The woman opens her mouth in a silent scream, shaking her head furiously in denial. As the dark figure steps into the light, his form is revealed to be that of a very young man, gruesomely disfigured by the orcish ax protruding from the center of his chest. Even in the poor lighting one can see the pallor of death and the blood dripping from the weapon embedded in him. Slowly he walks forward and turns his piercing golden gaze to the petrified woman who has long since frozen in fear.
‘Where is my daughter?’ the voice rasps like sand against dry parchment.
‘She..she’s,' the woman whispers, trembling too much to continue.
‘Where is my daughter!’ the specter demands harshly, pulling the ax out of his chest with a spray of red dousing the woman and her surroundings. He points it at her menacingly.
‘You have failed Elle. Failed!’ he roars as the ax comes back behind his head in a high arc prepared to come down and cleave her in two. She screams.
Before the ax can fall however, the image starts to flash and colors appear where only darkness had previously been. The sound of the scream is washed out by a loud rush of wind. The visual tableau surges in every direction as color and light pours in from nothingness. As suddenly as it began, the disorienting experience ends, and a small cozy dining room appears.
At the table sits a small, curly haired blonde girl marking up a length of parchment with a stick of charcoal. The woman walks into the room carrying a tray of drinks. When she comes into the child’s field of vision, the little girl giggles and beams, clapping her hands excitedly. Her golden eyes light up as she waits for the woman to set the tray down.
‘Come on mommy, you pwomised you’d dwaw with me,’ she says with a childhood inability to pronounce every word properly.
The woman smiles fondly and nods, pouring some tea from a kettle into two cups. The girl takes her smaller yellow cup with a bright gap-toothed smile and takes several large gulps. Raising her own cup to her mouth for a sip, the woman stops. The child has started to cough violently, grabbing at her throat. With a loud shatter, the woman’s cup drops to the stone floor as she rushes to the choking girl. She reaches the girl’s side just in time for the little one to collapse limply against the table.
‘Erilyn! Erilyn, no!’ she calls frantically as she gently places the child on the stone floor and tries to clear the little girl’s airways. Her efforts produce no effect on the small, still form.
As the now crying woman continues to desperately search for life in the child, a shadow passes over the two. The gentle sound of a lute strumming can be heard from a dark corner of the room.
‘It’s no use, loverly,’ a gentle, melodious voice says as a figure steps into the light to give it substance. He walks over to the chair flung backwards by the woman in her previous haste and puts a foot up on one of its legs, still strumming a lilting melody on his instrument. The woman’s eye snaps to his face in shock, shielding the body of the girl in a vain attempt to protect her. The brown haired youth laughs cruelly at her pathetic attempt and kicks the chair away, walking towards the woman until she’s trapped against the wall of the room. He kneels next to her with a malicious smirk.
‘Do you want to know how I know it’s no use?’ he asks in a sing-song voice. Drawing a small, empty vial from a pouch at his belt, he shakes it in front of her tauntingly. The woman is too scared to respond to his question, so he answers it himself. ‘Because I only lasted a few seconds after I used this poison on myself!’ He shouts in her face viciously throwing the vial against the wall and shattering it.
‘All you had to do was let me be there for you. I did everything for you! You and her,’ he says with a sneer toward the small body clutched in the woman’s arms.
‘You wouldn’t even let me be there for it. For her! So now she doesn’t get to be here either!’
The man throws his head backwards in maniacal laughter before it cuts off abruptly in a horribly familiar coughing fit. He clutches at his throat as he falls backwards. The woman watches with a wide eye filled with shock and terror as the man begins to choke. A sickening green substance starts to seep out of the corners of his mouth, then his nose, and then his eyes until the poison color leaks from every visible orifice. The woman pulls the child away from the growing puddle of liquid ebbing toward them. The man’s frame seems to draw tightly together, every feature becoming more sunken and skeletal until he resembles nothing but a dried husk of a man. Still, he manages to open his eyes once more and glare at her in hatred.
‘Your fault,’ is the last thing the once beautiful voice rasps.
Before she can respond the scene shifts and colors again violently burst through random points in the room until it is totally obscured. The swirling spectacle ends only for the main square in Troll’s Bane to appear. Snow is on the ground and a bitter wind whips around, blowing a single sheet of parchment around on a whim. The town is quiet, seemingly deserted. A massive boulder rests just off the side of the road near the campfire. The woman walks down the road to the shops, coat drawn tightly about her frame. She pauses as she beholds the boulder and her eye widens. Hurriedly, the woman makes her way to the boulder and attempts to shake it. Snow falls off, revealing the boulder to be an enormous man, frozen half to death, shallowly breathing and unresponsive. As she shifts him, a letter falls from his grasp.
Upon investigation, the letter appears to be nothing more than a jumble of nonsense symbols, but one word is scripted clearly in bold, red writing:
DIVORCE
Ignoring the letter, the woman pulls off her coat and covers him with it, calling out for help. Slowly a person approaches, then two, until an entire crowd of spectators forms a circle around the pleading woman. She attempts to lift his upper body from the ground into her lap, but his size makes it too difficult. His breathing becomes shallower by the minute and all color drains from his face. Just as the sound of breathing disappears, the man opens his eyes in a baleful gaze and reaches up with one hand and the remnants of the other before seizing. The life fades from his eyes as the weeping woman watches his last moments, shaking her head in furious denial.
Suddenly the crowd stirs.
‘Wretch’
‘Harlot’
‘Liar’
‘Cheater’
‘Murderer’
‘Murderer’
‘Murderer!’
It becomes their chant as they sway around the woman. The sky grows dark and fiery torches glow from within the rapidly developing mob. The woman cries out for mercy as she clutches the body of the man only to find that his form has become insubstantial - likened to the snow on which he once rested. A swift breeze comes through and robs the grasping woman of her last remnants of comfort as the crowd closes in.
Again the setting changes with an onslaught of light and sensation. Barren trees with deadened leaves creak in a cold wind. A ragged figure drags itself along on its stomach through the desolate forest. The woman approaches, breaking through brambles and trying to push the underbrush out of her path in her wild attempt to reach the figure. She is almost clear when a tree drops several branches further blocking her path.
‘Elle. Elle,’ the pathetic creature whimpers as he resolutely drags himself onward. She calls out to him.
‘I’m here! Please!’
He doesn’t hear her, just pulling himself forward by some godly level of single-minded determination. The woman continues calling to him until she sees a rabbit hop toward him innocently. Her calls become frenzied as she shouts warnings and struggles to get through the ever increasing tangle of branches and bushes. The rabbit turns to her and opens its mouth in a wicked smile, showing a full set of razor sharp teeth. The rabbit morphs into a giant demon and seizes the pitiful man. He screams in terror, not a plea for mercy or help, but a name.
‘Elle!’
The demon creates a portal and throws him into it as the woman screams helplessly. Turning to give her one last smile, the demon points to her before stepping through the passage to his dark realm. The portal closes with a colossal explosion of color and light. When it clears, the woman is standing in the middle of Troll’s Bane once again. This time however, the gentle spring air plays with the wavy tendrils of her hair. The cloth usually tied around her right eye is missing, revealing a glass replica. The brilliant emerald embedded within it clashes with the pale green of her other eye.
The woman seems peaceful, and at ease as she walks along the path toward the workshops. Again, the town appears quite deserted. As she walks past the hospital, voices can be heard coming from the direction of the cross. The woman hurries that way, the calm expression replaced with one of anxiety.
As she turns the corner by the Sea Horse, she freezes. A host of faceless women surround a man in crimson robes with a flaming sword at his belt. The ice-blue of his unseeing eye matches the emerald green of hers. Slowly, deliberately, the woman inches toward him. The faceless women move around him with sensuous, graceful elegance. He glares at her harshly.
‘You’re not wanted.’
She freezes mid step. All traces of her former peaceful mood dashed to pieces like paper ships on the rocks of a stormy beach. The woman’s features twist in pain at the proclamation.
‘I’ve had better before, and I’ll have better again,’ he says as the women mock and throw jeers at her.
‘Who could love a liar, a whore,’ he walks up close to her still form until he can whisper in her ear, ‘a killer?’
With those words he takes the flaming sword and plunges it into her stomach, letting her fall to her knees. She looks up at him miserably as the blood flows from her, the life flowing from her eye at the same rate. Slowly she weakens and tumbles to her side, closing her eyes against the tears. The loud mocking of the women is joined by the cruel laughter of the man. The woman’s eyes open. The pale green one is now unseeing, but the emerald green eye holds the same brilliance as ever - seeing more now than it ever did in life.
The image shifts for the final time, the color play and lights masking the transition in scenery until the hospital room reemerges. The woman lies motionless in the bed but for the rise and fall of her chest. Perhaps now the expression on her face is more easily understood. Perhaps someone can begin to understand. Perhaps they can help make the nightmares go away and the memories disappear.
Perhaps she won’t be forever condemned to suffer the wraiths of her past.
((Sorry it was so long. Just to clear things up, everything in here was a dream and only her perception of certain situations. This is not to be taken as fact or history.))
Re: Steady Rhythm
Kyre watches the scenes unfold, listening to the words with very little emotion playing across her features. Using the long red nail of her ungloved hand, she makes a small scratch in the woman's arm before bringing the drop of blood to her lips.
You will forget.
Floating from the chair, Kyre holds out her hand whispering ancient before turning her gaze back to the sleeping woman with a glint of red showing in her dark eyes. Not sure how long her instructions last, only knowing the blood usually answers, Kyre chuckles as the words are lost in a portal.
Nargun will find you interesting.
The black feather on the bed suddenly rises with the whirlwind of the portal and when it lands turns into a parchment unsigned.
Any questions, ask the witch. Payment has been received.
You will forget.
Floating from the chair, Kyre holds out her hand whispering ancient before turning her gaze back to the sleeping woman with a glint of red showing in her dark eyes. Not sure how long her instructions last, only knowing the blood usually answers, Kyre chuckles as the words are lost in a portal.
Nargun will find you interesting.
The black feather on the bed suddenly rises with the whirlwind of the portal and when it lands turns into a parchment unsigned.
Any questions, ask the witch. Payment has been received.
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Elle Hartstone
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Fri Jan 16, 2009 12:45 am
- Location: Crossroads of America
Re: Steady Rhythm
Soon after the visitor leaves the room, the woman stirs. Her eye blinks open and stares around the room with an unfocused, glazed appearance. When the cloudiness recedes, she shakes her head as if to clear it and sits up off the side of the bed. Looking around, she sees the short message and frowns in confusion upon reading it.
Shrugging the woman gathers her things and leaves the hospital room. On the way toward the workshops, she is stopped by a familiar face.
"Elle! I heard about your problems with Tirrend, and I wanted to say that I'm so sorry and I'll be here if you need me."
The woman's eye clouds over as soon as the man's name is mentioned and does not clear until well after the person finishes speaking.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand Ancient," she replies with some amusement. "You're going to have to repeat that in Common."
The person blinks in bemusement and responds, "What are you talking about? I -- never mind. I hope you're feeling better."
"That's better. Now that I can understand you, I'm feeling fine, thank you."
They trade a few more pleasantries before the woman walks off toward Eliza's with a serene smile on her face.
Shrugging the woman gathers her things and leaves the hospital room. On the way toward the workshops, she is stopped by a familiar face.
"Elle! I heard about your problems with Tirrend, and I wanted to say that I'm so sorry and I'll be here if you need me."
The woman's eye clouds over as soon as the man's name is mentioned and does not clear until well after the person finishes speaking.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand Ancient," she replies with some amusement. "You're going to have to repeat that in Common."
The person blinks in bemusement and responds, "What are you talking about? I -- never mind. I hope you're feeling better."
"That's better. Now that I can understand you, I'm feeling fine, thank you."
They trade a few more pleasantries before the woman walks off toward Eliza's with a serene smile on her face.