From: unseenwrth@aol.com (UnseenWrth)
Date: 30 Nov 1998 19:13:03 EST
The entity had tried... and had obviously failed, miserably. There was no hope of salvation for the innocent people of Tynsdale, caught up the mad, vengeful schemes of the Other; nor was there hope for their leaders, trapped beyond all reach of anyone who might have helped.
There had been hope, once, but it quickly drained away as those aware of the plight the Dragon and Talon found themselves in inexplicably lost interest. At the same time, the entity saw that even were salvation to come, what would there be to return to? That dream, once shining and glorious, had turned to rot, discord, and hatred. In a way, the entity was relieved when its doom came, the guillotines of the Other separating the three parts of the
entity from one another, as their bodies were separated from their heads...
~%~
The Other had one last piece of business to deal with. His mindless servants journeyed across dimensions, in the depth of night, to the basement of the Red Dragon Inn. They swept in among shadows, three of them, each bearing a load. The wraiths circled the main ring, and each with a keening exultation, drove the pikes they carried into the dust.
Atop one pike was the severed head of an old man, his crimson eyes lifeless. From his ear dangled a chain, which held replicas of the Fifth and Eighth Baron's rings. Atop the next, the decapitated skull of yet another... a young man, his auburn braid trailing down the shaft of the polearm, the easily recognizable Talon of Redwin left in place of his left eye. The last pike was crowned by the head of Lord Tynsdale himself, the amethyst and gold
banner of his house left in tatters, hanging from the spear-binding, and tainted with thick, crimson blood.
Attached to the pike, along with a replica of the ninth ring, was a note which simply read, "This is what happens to heroes. Especially forgotten ones."
In Dulce Decorum
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From: jakvaltrds@aol.com (Jakvaltrds)
Date: 30 Nov 1998 20:50:32 EST
::as the old Scot walked into the arena, he was as happy as a man has a right to be.
Upon reaching the the landing he took note of what looked to be some ritualistic display adorning the rings.
As he approached the first standard he was aghast at what he was seeing. His mouth dropped open as he realised what or whom he was seeing.
Moving to the next he was stopped dead in his tracks as he recognized the face of his fellow countryman, and second, Iain MacKenzie.
Stepping back and away from the horrific sight, he nealry fell over the tables behind him.
Fumbling for a chair and slowly dragging it out, his eyes never leaving the face of his friend.
His mind began reeling over the implications, his voice cries out " who in their right mind would do such a deed?"
Finally he gathers his wits and begins to look for something to hold the remains of his friend, and those who hung alongside him.
Stepping behind the bar, he retrieves three linen table clothes and steps back to the edge of the rings.
Pausing for a moment, he retreats to the chair and sits. The linens draped over his lap as he tries with all his being to understand how this could be.:::
Date: 30 Nov 1998 20:50:32 EST
::as the old Scot walked into the arena, he was as happy as a man has a right to be.
Upon reaching the the landing he took note of what looked to be some ritualistic display adorning the rings.
As he approached the first standard he was aghast at what he was seeing. His mouth dropped open as he realised what or whom he was seeing.
Moving to the next he was stopped dead in his tracks as he recognized the face of his fellow countryman, and second, Iain MacKenzie.
Stepping back and away from the horrific sight, he nealry fell over the tables behind him.
Fumbling for a chair and slowly dragging it out, his eyes never leaving the face of his friend.
His mind began reeling over the implications, his voice cries out " who in their right mind would do such a deed?"
Finally he gathers his wits and begins to look for something to hold the remains of his friend, and those who hung alongside him.
Stepping behind the bar, he retrieves three linen table clothes and steps back to the edge of the rings.
Pausing for a moment, he retreats to the chair and sits. The linens draped over his lap as he tries with all his being to understand how this could be.:::
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From: aisiainuz@aol.com (AisIain Uz)
Date: 01 Dec 1998 00:03:30 EST
"Marme, can I go show papa?" Aislain begged her mother as she twirled across the small floor of the dressmaker's shop. The seamstress, a round woman of late years pursed her rosebud pink lips disapprovingly as she grabbed a mannequin before it toppled into the damasks. "Si vous plait, Marme?" The child dropped to her knees, which sent up dust bunnies into the streak of pale sunrise that came through the windows.
Morte hastily pulled her daughter to her feet and smoothed out the thick blue velvet of the dress as she tried to pat away the dirt. She cast an apologetic look to the seamstress. From the squint of the tired woman's pale blue eyes, Morte could tell this would be an extra copper for cleaning. "Nae Ais, tis too early fer him te be about. And this is fer Tay and Xy's wedding."
"But Marme, Papa practices at dawn in the Arena, and that is just down the street." Aislain wailed and danced back, "It's so pretty! Is it not prettiest in the widest world Drak?" As he heard his name Drak popped up from inside the basket of buttons he had been playing in, "It is 'Slain, it's the prettier than the shoes mom bought just for me!" He proudly stuck one leg up so everyone could see his new red shoes. "You wear the dress and I'll
wear my shoes, and then we get married!"
Aislain began to spin again. Her long dark blue skirts fluttered up to brush a small pot of pins to the floor, as she giggled, "Non Drak, I am not going to marry you!" Drak fluttered up which caused the entire of basket of buttons to spill on the floor where they bounced and rolled among the pins, "You going to marry Tormay? He is a baby 'Slainy, you can't marry him! He tells everyone you are going to marry him, but you can't marry him because
we are going to get married and live on a pirate ship, and Tormay...."
The seamstress threw two plump hands into the air and shrieked, "ENOUGH!"
Without ceremony Morte captured her daughter and the young windling and yanked them out the door, "Now hurry back from the Arena ye two. Nae dawdle about, we hae some cream an' tarts when ye finished." With a sigh, Morte straightened her shoulders and reentered the shop to soothe the haggard Goody, "Now, I try on my dress an' ye get an extra silver just fer ye trouble."
The children paraded into the Red Dragon Inn. Aislain flounced her skirt like a princess, while Drak took special care to flutter a bit higher than usual so his new red shoes were at the eye level of any who wished to admire. Unfortunately, there was only a sour maid that was bent to clean the floor, and a tender who counted barrels behind the bar. Neither gave the two so much as a nod as they passed. Yet Aislain and Drak did not seem to mind,
the only audience they truly required being themselves.
"Who you going to marry? Randy?" Drak insisted as Ais leaned her shoulder on the door that led to the Arena stairs. She hesitated, her black eyes sparkled, "Non silly, he is a child. I have to marry a grown-up!"
"You do?" Drak blinked confused.
"Oui, you need to marry grown-ups because they own all the houses. Papa explained it to me, he said that I could not marry him because then I would be an orphan and I would not have a papa only a Marme. And I can't marry Marme because she wants to marry a boy. So I figured it out a long time ago, when I was six. I am going to marry Laird Tynsdale!"
Drak giggled helplessly in a high hiccuping lilt. He tried to stop himself, his tiny hands clutched around his middle and bent forward to hide his head between his knees gasping, "You can't marry him 'Slany, he is, he is, he is, a cominsernor."
"I can too!" Her lower lip trembled as she stamped her small foot, "I know I can. He said he would marry me but Lady Tynsdale would be cross and he was too old. But now they are not married anymore, and I am old too. Before I was only seven, but now I am eight, and eight is one whole year more than seven, in fact I am...I am" Drak fluttered up to her shoulder as she began to walk down the steps forgetting to flounce, "eight and ONE quarter.
"And now we will get married, and we will eat sweet cakes everyday for breakfast, and we will have a big house with lots of rooms so everyone can have their own room: Marme, Papa, Da Badger, Father Redheart, Prudence, Randy, Lou, Rhi, Ril, but NOT Aggy!"
Drak grabbed one of her long red curls, "Can I live with you?"
Aislain generously extended her hand before them in a sweeping gesture as they descended. "Oui Drak, you can live with us. Laird Tynsdale would build a BIGGER tree house because he has lots and lots of land. And no one will ever spank us because he says that they musn't. Really truly, remember last season, he did not let them spank us once! And he said we were the meanest Pirates, and he would not even let Madame Morgan grant us half points
for our thrusts, because we happened to be half sized. And he always has a lap. And he even lost his mind for us so we could join the TDL, and when he found it he only laughed. And he is fair and kind and wise and he loves us so we will live happily ever after becoming great big old Barons like him and never got to bed."
Half-way down the stairs Drak gasped, his small face going white. Aislain followed his gaze out into the arena to where three grisly visages dripped from their perches before Seamus. They grew huge in her sight, the blood ozzing down a long swag of a dark pony tail. A once pair of laughing crimson-gold eyes now dulled in the torch-light. Her mouth opened and the silence in the Arena shattered into echoing screams as one little girl child with a
young windling clutched to her shoulder fell down the steps.
Date: 01 Dec 1998 00:03:30 EST
"Marme, can I go show papa?" Aislain begged her mother as she twirled across the small floor of the dressmaker's shop. The seamstress, a round woman of late years pursed her rosebud pink lips disapprovingly as she grabbed a mannequin before it toppled into the damasks. "Si vous plait, Marme?" The child dropped to her knees, which sent up dust bunnies into the streak of pale sunrise that came through the windows.
Morte hastily pulled her daughter to her feet and smoothed out the thick blue velvet of the dress as she tried to pat away the dirt. She cast an apologetic look to the seamstress. From the squint of the tired woman's pale blue eyes, Morte could tell this would be an extra copper for cleaning. "Nae Ais, tis too early fer him te be about. And this is fer Tay and Xy's wedding."
"But Marme, Papa practices at dawn in the Arena, and that is just down the street." Aislain wailed and danced back, "It's so pretty! Is it not prettiest in the widest world Drak?" As he heard his name Drak popped up from inside the basket of buttons he had been playing in, "It is 'Slain, it's the prettier than the shoes mom bought just for me!" He proudly stuck one leg up so everyone could see his new red shoes. "You wear the dress and I'll
wear my shoes, and then we get married!"
Aislain began to spin again. Her long dark blue skirts fluttered up to brush a small pot of pins to the floor, as she giggled, "Non Drak, I am not going to marry you!" Drak fluttered up which caused the entire of basket of buttons to spill on the floor where they bounced and rolled among the pins, "You going to marry Tormay? He is a baby 'Slainy, you can't marry him! He tells everyone you are going to marry him, but you can't marry him because
we are going to get married and live on a pirate ship, and Tormay...."
The seamstress threw two plump hands into the air and shrieked, "ENOUGH!"
Without ceremony Morte captured her daughter and the young windling and yanked them out the door, "Now hurry back from the Arena ye two. Nae dawdle about, we hae some cream an' tarts when ye finished." With a sigh, Morte straightened her shoulders and reentered the shop to soothe the haggard Goody, "Now, I try on my dress an' ye get an extra silver just fer ye trouble."
The children paraded into the Red Dragon Inn. Aislain flounced her skirt like a princess, while Drak took special care to flutter a bit higher than usual so his new red shoes were at the eye level of any who wished to admire. Unfortunately, there was only a sour maid that was bent to clean the floor, and a tender who counted barrels behind the bar. Neither gave the two so much as a nod as they passed. Yet Aislain and Drak did not seem to mind,
the only audience they truly required being themselves.
"Who you going to marry? Randy?" Drak insisted as Ais leaned her shoulder on the door that led to the Arena stairs. She hesitated, her black eyes sparkled, "Non silly, he is a child. I have to marry a grown-up!"
"You do?" Drak blinked confused.
"Oui, you need to marry grown-ups because they own all the houses. Papa explained it to me, he said that I could not marry him because then I would be an orphan and I would not have a papa only a Marme. And I can't marry Marme because she wants to marry a boy. So I figured it out a long time ago, when I was six. I am going to marry Laird Tynsdale!"
Drak giggled helplessly in a high hiccuping lilt. He tried to stop himself, his tiny hands clutched around his middle and bent forward to hide his head between his knees gasping, "You can't marry him 'Slany, he is, he is, he is, a cominsernor."
"I can too!" Her lower lip trembled as she stamped her small foot, "I know I can. He said he would marry me but Lady Tynsdale would be cross and he was too old. But now they are not married anymore, and I am old too. Before I was only seven, but now I am eight, and eight is one whole year more than seven, in fact I am...I am" Drak fluttered up to her shoulder as she began to walk down the steps forgetting to flounce, "eight and ONE quarter.
"And now we will get married, and we will eat sweet cakes everyday for breakfast, and we will have a big house with lots of rooms so everyone can have their own room: Marme, Papa, Da Badger, Father Redheart, Prudence, Randy, Lou, Rhi, Ril, but NOT Aggy!"
Drak grabbed one of her long red curls, "Can I live with you?"
Aislain generously extended her hand before them in a sweeping gesture as they descended. "Oui Drak, you can live with us. Laird Tynsdale would build a BIGGER tree house because he has lots and lots of land. And no one will ever spank us because he says that they musn't. Really truly, remember last season, he did not let them spank us once! And he said we were the meanest Pirates, and he would not even let Madame Morgan grant us half points
for our thrusts, because we happened to be half sized. And he always has a lap. And he even lost his mind for us so we could join the TDL, and when he found it he only laughed. And he is fair and kind and wise and he loves us so we will live happily ever after becoming great big old Barons like him and never got to bed."
Half-way down the stairs Drak gasped, his small face going white. Aislain followed his gaze out into the arena to where three grisly visages dripped from their perches before Seamus. They grew huge in her sight, the blood ozzing down a long swag of a dark pony tail. A once pair of laughing crimson-gold eyes now dulled in the torch-light. Her mouth opened and the silence in the Arena shattered into echoing screams as one little girl child with a
young windling clutched to her shoulder fell down the steps.
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From: jonalyn@aol.com (Jonalyn)
Date: 01 Dec 1998 03:06:34 EST
She wandered into the basement, as was her wont, for there in the silence her thoughts could drift as her gaze swept the banners, one by one. Her gaze paused on the banner of Redwin, then that of Xenograg kathu-Darelir, then swept to the dark stones, the empty place where once the banner of Abbemeer was displayed. She traced a hand along the wall, letting her gaze drift to the silent dark rings.
Dim torchlight flickered along the stone walls, an eerie play of light and shadow danced before her adept eyes. She turned suddenly, canting her head slightly. A whimpering seemed to be coming from behind the bar. "Marcus?", she called softly. The youngest of the serving lads, peered over the bar, then darted to her. The boy was shaking, terrified, his voice trembled, "Mur..der, G..Ghoo..sts", his finger shakily pointing to the main ring.
She looked toward the rings, keeping her hand gently wrapped around the shaking child's shoulder. The sight that met her gaze shook her to very soul. Her breath caught in her throat, her hand clenched Marcus' shoulder, "Chrìstus!" Her right hand instinctively touched her forehead, her breast, each shoulder, her voice a bare whisper, "In Nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."
Her sea blue eyes glittered a cold arctic blue fire through the tears that blurred her vision. Her hand dropped to her side, clenched, nails biting into her palm, the scar there opening, droplets of blood falling to the stones. She could not, would not break down now, not now, later, but not now. She turned Marcus away from the sight. Raising her voice she called out for Al and Hubie. A rattling of the ladder from their loft room told her
they were on their way.
She knelt before Marcus, turning him to her, "Marcus, tis yuir needin' ta be verra strong right now, aye?" She remembered how upset he had been when he had learned that Siera had been slain. "Laddie, ye sit 'ere abit, whilst Ah an th' lads see ta thin's" He nodded mutely, dragging his sleeve across his nose, his tear streaked face nearly breaking her heart. She eased him to a nearby chair. The woman slowly walked toward the silent ring, the
gruesome sight before her, all but bringing her to her knees as she neared. It was then she realized Seamus was seated nearby. She slipped beneath the ring ropes, reaching a hand behind her to steady herself against the post.
Al and Hubie dashed out of the kitchen, sleepy eyed, muttering, grumbling about being overworked. Both boys went silent as they caught sight of the gruesome scene in the main ring.
She couldn't bring herself to touch the heads while they remained on the pikes; yet should would not, could not leave them there, exposed, prey to any carrion beast that might wander into the vast cavern. She had to concentrate now, no time for emotion, not now. She would weep later. She spoke just above a whisper, "Al, 'ubie, fetch me three boxes from th' storeroom, aye? She didn't need to look behind her, she knew the two would do as she
requested.
She sighed heavily, her gaze riveted on the pikes. Her vision remained blurred as she fought to control her tears. She bit her lip, then rubbed fiercely at her eyes, dashing the tears away. The boys placed the boxes on the top step leading into the ring, unwilling to advance any further.
She inhaled slowly and deeply, a mental mantra soothing her mind. She slowly entered that trance like state of concentration, her gaze intent on the first bloody pike. She murmured softly, "Ian. Och, look wh' they hae done ta thee, ol' friend." Drawing on all her skills, she gave a gentle telekinetic nudge, then another, steeling herself to the sound as the head was freed of the pike. Another gentle surge of energy, a mental nudge, lowered the
head to the sands, the coppery smell of blood assailing her, the rust colored fluid a spreading stain on the white sands.
She gripped the ring rope, inhaling softly. She concentrated again on the second pike. Darian Pridden Redwin, she had met him only a few times, had joked with him about that braid of his. A soft whisper, "Darian", as she concentrated, freeing the severed head as gently as she could from its gruesome mounting. A gentle telekinetic nudge placed it upon the sands next to the first.
Marcus crept closer to the ring as she concentrated. Al and Hubie remained standing at the foot of the steps leading into the ring. They had seen her in this trance-like state before. Rarely were the serving lads unnerved, yet this was a sight they had never witnessed. The woman lowered her head, her strength waning.
She forced her emotions aside. Not now, she would weep later, but not now. She released her grip on the ring ropes, inhaled deeply, then gazed directly at the head atop the last pike, then to the tattered, bloody banner. Her concentration deepened, her sea blue eyes taking on a distant look. She murmured softly, "Iain. Och, laddie, Ah ne'er thought Ah'd live ta see th'." Again, she steeled herself as she concentrated, freeing the head from the
pike, a gentle nudge of pure telekinetic energy lowering it gently to the sands.
She gripped the ring ropes again, dizzy. For a moment she was unable to focus her thoughts. She slid slowly to the sand, digging her fingers deeply into the grains. She drew slowly on the magic bestowed by the Guardian, the ley lines shimmering as she regained her strength. The woman rose slowly, then took the few steps to where the heads lay. She gently closed the lids over those lifeless crimson eyes. Their color told her he had not gone
from this veil quietly.
Her eyes misted as she looked to the decapitated head of the man she had known as the defacto adopted son of Siera of Redwin. Her gut wrenched at the cruelty done to him. The brooch, the Talon of Redwin, how many times had she seen him, his cloak secured by that talisman. She would see that it was buried with him.
At last she turned her gaze to the severed head of Iain, Lord Tynsdale. She recalled the night of the banquet at the end of the last Team Dueling season. She had "accidentally" trod on his foot; had teased him mischievously as he had mounted the dais to accept the awards bestowed on him by the league. For a moment her thoughts whirled, his face, his mannerisms flashing before her eyes. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She
needed every ounce of concentration, every bit of her adept arts to accomplish what she needed to do.
A glance over her shoulder, a thought flashed, each of the three boxes vanished from the step to reappear beside each head. She looked to Seamus, then the linen clothes he was holding. Softly, "Laird MacDonnaugh, Ah hae need ‘o th’ linen, if ye wouldst permit." It was then she noticed the stains of blood on each cloth. She gazed at her scarred right palm, pushing the memory of the night she had received that scar from Ian, the night they had
sealed a portal. She wiped her bloody palm against her britches, then gently teleported the linen cloths to her hands. She took a deep breath, then, one by one, she wrapped the mortal remains carefully. As she placed Ian's remains into the last box, she murmured, "Ah shall remember."
She chose to bury them where they had been found, here, beneath the main ring. She would leave no trace of magic to guide any to the resting place. She closed the lid of each box, then stood slowly. A glance over her shoulder, a flick of her hand sent a gentle sleep to cradle Marcus, Aloysius and Hubie. A sad wistfulness filled her eyes as she glanced toward Seamus. "Th’ lads shall awaken in a moment." She drew deeply on her inner
strength, concentrating on a place beneath the sands of the ring. Her mind searched for a small fissure in the rock beneath the ring, "Ah, there", her mind's eye revealed what she sought. In an eyeblink the boxes vanished, leaving naught but a small impression upon the white sands. She murmured a soft prayer to the Guardian, "Gi' them gentle repose, an a warriors place in th' hereafter."
She could almost feel the spirits of those who had gone before peering down upon her. She lifted her gaze to the tattered, blood stained banner. A glance toward the south wall, a surge of energy raced through her, the banner, yet tattered, though cleansed of the thick crimson stains appeared to the right of that of Siera Redwin.
Al and Hubie stumbled backward as the woman slipped beneath the ring ropes, She placed a gentle hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Tis time ye were abed, laddie." She cast a backward glance into the ring, her sea blue eyes flashed a cold arctic fire, the pikes lifted from the sands, whirled, then arrowed straight into the west wall, imbedded to mid shaft in the dark stones next to the tunnel entrance leading to the annex, the note appeared in her hand.
Her tone unnaturally calm, she glanced to Al and Hubie, "See th' sands aire raked well, th' night."
She walked slowly to her usual place at the bar, kicked a stool out of her way, turned to face the south banner wall and wept. It seemed hours had passed, though it had not been that long, when she lifted her head, rose, offering an inclination of her head to Seamus, "M’lord, Ah....", her tears sparkling on her cheeks, she could say no more. She startled as she heard the child scream, the note in her hand vanishing to reappear on the ancient
cork board, a dagger deeply through the note, solidly pinning it to the cork.
She was immediately at the foot of the stairs, calling out to Seamus, "Och, laird find 'er mother, Morte an a 'ealer!!" She kneeled her eyes upon the child. Daring to cradle the wee one in her arms, hoping moving her would cause no further injury, she remained there awaiting aid. She was exhausted, yet drew on the gentle power of the Guardian and her own waning strength to bring a bit of the magical sands to her hand. She lightly sprinkled
them over the girl, all the while inwardly praying the child would somehow recover from the horrible sight that must have met her eyes. The woman had no way of knowing that how long the child and the windling had been on the stairs.
***********************************************
"This is what happens to heroes. Especially forgotten ones."
Date: 01 Dec 1998 03:06:34 EST
She wandered into the basement, as was her wont, for there in the silence her thoughts could drift as her gaze swept the banners, one by one. Her gaze paused on the banner of Redwin, then that of Xenograg kathu-Darelir, then swept to the dark stones, the empty place where once the banner of Abbemeer was displayed. She traced a hand along the wall, letting her gaze drift to the silent dark rings.
Dim torchlight flickered along the stone walls, an eerie play of light and shadow danced before her adept eyes. She turned suddenly, canting her head slightly. A whimpering seemed to be coming from behind the bar. "Marcus?", she called softly. The youngest of the serving lads, peered over the bar, then darted to her. The boy was shaking, terrified, his voice trembled, "Mur..der, G..Ghoo..sts", his finger shakily pointing to the main ring.
She looked toward the rings, keeping her hand gently wrapped around the shaking child's shoulder. The sight that met her gaze shook her to very soul. Her breath caught in her throat, her hand clenched Marcus' shoulder, "Chrìstus!" Her right hand instinctively touched her forehead, her breast, each shoulder, her voice a bare whisper, "In Nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."
Her sea blue eyes glittered a cold arctic blue fire through the tears that blurred her vision. Her hand dropped to her side, clenched, nails biting into her palm, the scar there opening, droplets of blood falling to the stones. She could not, would not break down now, not now, later, but not now. She turned Marcus away from the sight. Raising her voice she called out for Al and Hubie. A rattling of the ladder from their loft room told her
they were on their way.
She knelt before Marcus, turning him to her, "Marcus, tis yuir needin' ta be verra strong right now, aye?" She remembered how upset he had been when he had learned that Siera had been slain. "Laddie, ye sit 'ere abit, whilst Ah an th' lads see ta thin's" He nodded mutely, dragging his sleeve across his nose, his tear streaked face nearly breaking her heart. She eased him to a nearby chair. The woman slowly walked toward the silent ring, the
gruesome sight before her, all but bringing her to her knees as she neared. It was then she realized Seamus was seated nearby. She slipped beneath the ring ropes, reaching a hand behind her to steady herself against the post.
Al and Hubie dashed out of the kitchen, sleepy eyed, muttering, grumbling about being overworked. Both boys went silent as they caught sight of the gruesome scene in the main ring.
She couldn't bring herself to touch the heads while they remained on the pikes; yet should would not, could not leave them there, exposed, prey to any carrion beast that might wander into the vast cavern. She had to concentrate now, no time for emotion, not now. She would weep later. She spoke just above a whisper, "Al, 'ubie, fetch me three boxes from th' storeroom, aye? She didn't need to look behind her, she knew the two would do as she
requested.
She sighed heavily, her gaze riveted on the pikes. Her vision remained blurred as she fought to control her tears. She bit her lip, then rubbed fiercely at her eyes, dashing the tears away. The boys placed the boxes on the top step leading into the ring, unwilling to advance any further.
She inhaled slowly and deeply, a mental mantra soothing her mind. She slowly entered that trance like state of concentration, her gaze intent on the first bloody pike. She murmured softly, "Ian. Och, look wh' they hae done ta thee, ol' friend." Drawing on all her skills, she gave a gentle telekinetic nudge, then another, steeling herself to the sound as the head was freed of the pike. Another gentle surge of energy, a mental nudge, lowered the
head to the sands, the coppery smell of blood assailing her, the rust colored fluid a spreading stain on the white sands.
She gripped the ring rope, inhaling softly. She concentrated again on the second pike. Darian Pridden Redwin, she had met him only a few times, had joked with him about that braid of his. A soft whisper, "Darian", as she concentrated, freeing the severed head as gently as she could from its gruesome mounting. A gentle telekinetic nudge placed it upon the sands next to the first.
Marcus crept closer to the ring as she concentrated. Al and Hubie remained standing at the foot of the steps leading into the ring. They had seen her in this trance-like state before. Rarely were the serving lads unnerved, yet this was a sight they had never witnessed. The woman lowered her head, her strength waning.
She forced her emotions aside. Not now, she would weep later, but not now. She released her grip on the ring ropes, inhaled deeply, then gazed directly at the head atop the last pike, then to the tattered, bloody banner. Her concentration deepened, her sea blue eyes taking on a distant look. She murmured softly, "Iain. Och, laddie, Ah ne'er thought Ah'd live ta see th'." Again, she steeled herself as she concentrated, freeing the head from the
pike, a gentle nudge of pure telekinetic energy lowering it gently to the sands.
She gripped the ring ropes again, dizzy. For a moment she was unable to focus her thoughts. She slid slowly to the sand, digging her fingers deeply into the grains. She drew slowly on the magic bestowed by the Guardian, the ley lines shimmering as she regained her strength. The woman rose slowly, then took the few steps to where the heads lay. She gently closed the lids over those lifeless crimson eyes. Their color told her he had not gone
from this veil quietly.
Her eyes misted as she looked to the decapitated head of the man she had known as the defacto adopted son of Siera of Redwin. Her gut wrenched at the cruelty done to him. The brooch, the Talon of Redwin, how many times had she seen him, his cloak secured by that talisman. She would see that it was buried with him.
At last she turned her gaze to the severed head of Iain, Lord Tynsdale. She recalled the night of the banquet at the end of the last Team Dueling season. She had "accidentally" trod on his foot; had teased him mischievously as he had mounted the dais to accept the awards bestowed on him by the league. For a moment her thoughts whirled, his face, his mannerisms flashing before her eyes. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She
needed every ounce of concentration, every bit of her adept arts to accomplish what she needed to do.
A glance over her shoulder, a thought flashed, each of the three boxes vanished from the step to reappear beside each head. She looked to Seamus, then the linen clothes he was holding. Softly, "Laird MacDonnaugh, Ah hae need ‘o th’ linen, if ye wouldst permit." It was then she noticed the stains of blood on each cloth. She gazed at her scarred right palm, pushing the memory of the night she had received that scar from Ian, the night they had
sealed a portal. She wiped her bloody palm against her britches, then gently teleported the linen cloths to her hands. She took a deep breath, then, one by one, she wrapped the mortal remains carefully. As she placed Ian's remains into the last box, she murmured, "Ah shall remember."
She chose to bury them where they had been found, here, beneath the main ring. She would leave no trace of magic to guide any to the resting place. She closed the lid of each box, then stood slowly. A glance over her shoulder, a flick of her hand sent a gentle sleep to cradle Marcus, Aloysius and Hubie. A sad wistfulness filled her eyes as she glanced toward Seamus. "Th’ lads shall awaken in a moment." She drew deeply on her inner
strength, concentrating on a place beneath the sands of the ring. Her mind searched for a small fissure in the rock beneath the ring, "Ah, there", her mind's eye revealed what she sought. In an eyeblink the boxes vanished, leaving naught but a small impression upon the white sands. She murmured a soft prayer to the Guardian, "Gi' them gentle repose, an a warriors place in th' hereafter."
She could almost feel the spirits of those who had gone before peering down upon her. She lifted her gaze to the tattered, blood stained banner. A glance toward the south wall, a surge of energy raced through her, the banner, yet tattered, though cleansed of the thick crimson stains appeared to the right of that of Siera Redwin.
Al and Hubie stumbled backward as the woman slipped beneath the ring ropes, She placed a gentle hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Tis time ye were abed, laddie." She cast a backward glance into the ring, her sea blue eyes flashed a cold arctic fire, the pikes lifted from the sands, whirled, then arrowed straight into the west wall, imbedded to mid shaft in the dark stones next to the tunnel entrance leading to the annex, the note appeared in her hand.
Her tone unnaturally calm, she glanced to Al and Hubie, "See th' sands aire raked well, th' night."
She walked slowly to her usual place at the bar, kicked a stool out of her way, turned to face the south banner wall and wept. It seemed hours had passed, though it had not been that long, when she lifted her head, rose, offering an inclination of her head to Seamus, "M’lord, Ah....", her tears sparkling on her cheeks, she could say no more. She startled as she heard the child scream, the note in her hand vanishing to reappear on the ancient
cork board, a dagger deeply through the note, solidly pinning it to the cork.
She was immediately at the foot of the stairs, calling out to Seamus, "Och, laird find 'er mother, Morte an a 'ealer!!" She kneeled her eyes upon the child. Daring to cradle the wee one in her arms, hoping moving her would cause no further injury, she remained there awaiting aid. She was exhausted, yet drew on the gentle power of the Guardian and her own waning strength to bring a bit of the magical sands to her hand. She lightly sprinkled
them over the girl, all the while inwardly praying the child would somehow recover from the horrible sight that must have met her eyes. The woman had no way of knowing that how long the child and the windling had been on the stairs.
***********************************************
"This is what happens to heroes. Especially forgotten ones."
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From: leducblanc@aol.com (LeDucBlanc)
Date: 01 Dec 1998 04:51:03 EST
The French nobleman was not expecting the ghastly sight that awaited him when he trod down the stairs of the Arena, looking for a full flagon and a warm table. He saw the heads upon the pikes, not recognizing them immediately, though the old man looked vaguely familiar, from days past. As his gaze fell upon the younger version of the same man, he suddenly recognized the old man, conversations with Kalamere and
Jaycynda coming to mind.
He backed towards the staircase again, his face twisted with revulsion at the bloody sight. He shook his head slightly, playing conversation after conversation over in his head, trying to remember anything that might have hinted at this. He remembered warnings of danger, he could not remember any specific information he could use.
It didn't matter though. The warnings had been given and he had not understood them. Neither had others. The lack of understanding seemed a sorry excuse now. He missed the words left, another phrase running through his mind.
"There is always a price to pay for failure."
Date: 01 Dec 1998 04:51:03 EST
The French nobleman was not expecting the ghastly sight that awaited him when he trod down the stairs of the Arena, looking for a full flagon and a warm table. He saw the heads upon the pikes, not recognizing them immediately, though the old man looked vaguely familiar, from days past. As his gaze fell upon the younger version of the same man, he suddenly recognized the old man, conversations with Kalamere and
Jaycynda coming to mind.
He backed towards the staircase again, his face twisted with revulsion at the bloody sight. He shook his head slightly, playing conversation after conversation over in his head, trying to remember anything that might have hinted at this. He remembered warnings of danger, he could not remember any specific information he could use.
It didn't matter though. The warnings had been given and he had not understood them. Neither had others. The lack of understanding seemed a sorry excuse now. He missed the words left, another phrase running through his mind.
"There is always a price to pay for failure."
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From: sidarthae@aol.com (Sidartha E)
Date: 01 Dec 1998 21:12:43 EST
Upon entering the Arena and noting the expressions of those assembled, she knew something was wrong. Her deaf ears had missed Ais' screams, but when she stepped down into the cavernous room, she soon knew why the girl and her companion were screaming.
Sidartha's pale blue gaze passed over the gruesome sight. The first two she knew only a little..but the third...
Her legs buckled under her and she sank to her knees, eyes wide and hands upon her throat. Iain Ryan MacKenzie. A man she seemed never able to agree with, but nonetheless a good man. A good man that did not deserve such a horrendous fate. Large tears fell unbidden down her cheeks as she wispered a prayer, her voice shaking. "Dear Goddess Malichi, keeper of the Gate, Queen of the Realm of Souls...hold these men in Your prescious embrace, guard their
resting souls. So mote it be..."
With the prayer said she turned to Seamus, her anger towards him thrown aside, for such things did not matter...not right now. Sidartha searched his face for a moment, thinking of some way to give him comfort. Some word...something.
"I...oh, Seamus..I'm..," was all she could manage to croak out before she gave up, deciding to wait for another time to try to help.
Date: 01 Dec 1998 21:12:43 EST
Upon entering the Arena and noting the expressions of those assembled, she knew something was wrong. Her deaf ears had missed Ais' screams, but when she stepped down into the cavernous room, she soon knew why the girl and her companion were screaming.
Sidartha's pale blue gaze passed over the gruesome sight. The first two she knew only a little..but the third...
Her legs buckled under her and she sank to her knees, eyes wide and hands upon her throat. Iain Ryan MacKenzie. A man she seemed never able to agree with, but nonetheless a good man. A good man that did not deserve such a horrendous fate. Large tears fell unbidden down her cheeks as she wispered a prayer, her voice shaking. "Dear Goddess Malichi, keeper of the Gate, Queen of the Realm of Souls...hold these men in Your prescious embrace, guard their
resting souls. So mote it be..."
With the prayer said she turned to Seamus, her anger towards him thrown aside, for such things did not matter...not right now. Sidartha searched his face for a moment, thinking of some way to give him comfort. Some word...something.
"I...oh, Seamus..I'm..," was all she could manage to croak out before she gave up, deciding to wait for another time to try to help.
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From: nekedrat@aol.com (NekedRat)
Date: 02 Dec 1998 13:53:25 EST
::Hunger drove him out, that and thirst. His mind insisted that he stay in bed and starve rather than venture from his hole under the boards, but his instinct for survival was the stronger force. It was not that the rat hadn't faced death before, indeed he had sat at deaths table many times and dined with gusto often commenting on what the deceased could have done differently to avoid their abrupt (he
never dined on the old) and often foolish end. As he lectured the departed he would make grand gestures to emphasize his points, he was particularly fond of removing the victims finger and using it to poke the body as he observed "You, my new sustenance, died a foolish death" and then attacking the digit as a human would a beef rib. Not on that night ... food was the last thing on his mind. They were across the room just staring at him, with five
unblinking eyes, and very pale. The bald rodent was transfixed by their gaze for hours, unable to back into his hole or close his own eyes until the screams broke into his paralyzed mind and allowed him to dash back into his hole, burying deep into his bed, intent on never coming out again. Until now..., he crept to his entrance with all of his senses on alert, listening, testing the air for the scent of blood, the pads of his feet feeling every
vibration, but the grisly heads were gone, only the smell remained as a faint reminder. He was unaware how much time had passed or of anything that transpired after the scream, he knew he was hungry, so nervous and very aware he made his way behind the bar to feed.::
Date: 02 Dec 1998 13:53:25 EST
::Hunger drove him out, that and thirst. His mind insisted that he stay in bed and starve rather than venture from his hole under the boards, but his instinct for survival was the stronger force. It was not that the rat hadn't faced death before, indeed he had sat at deaths table many times and dined with gusto often commenting on what the deceased could have done differently to avoid their abrupt (he
never dined on the old) and often foolish end. As he lectured the departed he would make grand gestures to emphasize his points, he was particularly fond of removing the victims finger and using it to poke the body as he observed "You, my new sustenance, died a foolish death" and then attacking the digit as a human would a beef rib. Not on that night ... food was the last thing on his mind. They were across the room just staring at him, with five
unblinking eyes, and very pale. The bald rodent was transfixed by their gaze for hours, unable to back into his hole or close his own eyes until the screams broke into his paralyzed mind and allowed him to dash back into his hole, burying deep into his bed, intent on never coming out again. Until now..., he crept to his entrance with all of his senses on alert, listening, testing the air for the scent of blood, the pads of his feet feeling every
vibration, but the grisly heads were gone, only the smell remained as a faint reminder. He was unaware how much time had passed or of anything that transpired after the scream, he knew he was hungry, so nervous and very aware he made his way behind the bar to feed.::
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From: prlunicorn@aol.com (PrlUnicorn)
Date: 02 Dec 1998 16:22:49 EST
Collie came down the stairs with Rhi in tow to prepare for a morning drill. It was perhaps better on this day that the child was late for her daily lessons. A twist of fate that day had left mother and daughter to tend a laboring mare, so their arrival had been delayed a bit over an hour.
They were laughing as they came to the door, enjoying a day together, suddenly the quiet of grave overcame both. Collie moved Rhi behind her and started down. Collie's jaw about hit the ground when she saw Jonalyn tending bodies.
Rhi was aghast. She knew Iain MacKenzie. She remembered Darian from one of her TDL duels, but all she saw was the brooch. Collie moved to help Jona, but she already had the bodies sealed away in the containers.
The little girl looked to calm Aislain, having heard Jona's request, she dashed out into the street to look for Morte. The new dress was her clue. There was a dressmaker down the street. Rhi sought out Morte. "Mrs. Morte!! Slainie needs help!!!" She was at a dead run when she hit the door of the shop.
Rhi hadn't stopped to consider that the main thing that needed was a healer. The child only knew that when she was scared she wanted her own mother to comfort her.
Collie knelt and whispered a few prayers. That this could happen to such good men was abominable. It was at that moment she questioned what little faith in God she had remaining and turn to the old ways. Her head lowered and she whispered, " Heroes are never forgotten in the hearts of those that knew them."
She had been one of those that had been looked to for help. Collie attempted to contact Kalaya Madison regarding what the wraith had said. Although the messenger reported the lettered hand delivered, there was no response. She never saw the being after that to ask what could be done next.
It wasn't that Collie didn't care about what the creature said it was that she had tried to do her part and failed in her mission. She had tried, but it wasn't enough.
The prayers to Badb and Niamh began. Collie prayed for the safe journey of the three souls to Tir-na-nOg to rest with other heroes.
" May the gentle breezes over the western sea guide you safely into Tir-na-nOg. May her warm waters comfort you, her loving earth receive you, and her eternal sacred fires create for you a joyous life anew. So Mote It Be!"
Her voice was quiet and the deep emotion showed upon her pale features. She looked to Seamus for just a moment and then to the departing remains. "Slàn leat."
Collie looked to Sid and instinctively wrapped her in a hug because it would be better understood than words through trembling lips to Sid's eyes. She looked to Jona and spoke quietly, "They are at peace, but I hope someone is burning for what was done to them."
At that moment Collie was thanking the powers that be that Rhi hadn't seen the gruesome sight that she now did in her mind's eye. Although Rhi had seen the demon's slaughtered that had been sent to invade her new home, this was different. This was three men that she had known or read of in the history books. Iain's body in that condition would have likely sent Rhi into deep shock. She knew him, talked to him. The child had always looked up to both
Iain and Seamus as fatherly figures in her life and to see one dead and his body desecrated would have done deep harm to her.
((Author's note: Badb is the Irish goddess who presides over the great cauldron to which all life goes at death and waits to be reborn. She is also called the boiling one.
Niamh is the goddess who befriends warriors at their deaths and leads them to Tir-na-nOg.
Tir-na-nOg, the land of the dead, often called Avalon, the isle of apples, is where legend says King Arthur was taken to rest.
Information can be found in "Celtic Myth and Magick" by Edain McCoy.
Roughly translated Slàn leat means good journey.))
Date: 02 Dec 1998 16:22:49 EST
Collie came down the stairs with Rhi in tow to prepare for a morning drill. It was perhaps better on this day that the child was late for her daily lessons. A twist of fate that day had left mother and daughter to tend a laboring mare, so their arrival had been delayed a bit over an hour.
They were laughing as they came to the door, enjoying a day together, suddenly the quiet of grave overcame both. Collie moved Rhi behind her and started down. Collie's jaw about hit the ground when she saw Jonalyn tending bodies.
Rhi was aghast. She knew Iain MacKenzie. She remembered Darian from one of her TDL duels, but all she saw was the brooch. Collie moved to help Jona, but she already had the bodies sealed away in the containers.
The little girl looked to calm Aislain, having heard Jona's request, she dashed out into the street to look for Morte. The new dress was her clue. There was a dressmaker down the street. Rhi sought out Morte. "Mrs. Morte!! Slainie needs help!!!" She was at a dead run when she hit the door of the shop.
Rhi hadn't stopped to consider that the main thing that needed was a healer. The child only knew that when she was scared she wanted her own mother to comfort her.
Collie knelt and whispered a few prayers. That this could happen to such good men was abominable. It was at that moment she questioned what little faith in God she had remaining and turn to the old ways. Her head lowered and she whispered, " Heroes are never forgotten in the hearts of those that knew them."
She had been one of those that had been looked to for help. Collie attempted to contact Kalaya Madison regarding what the wraith had said. Although the messenger reported the lettered hand delivered, there was no response. She never saw the being after that to ask what could be done next.
It wasn't that Collie didn't care about what the creature said it was that she had tried to do her part and failed in her mission. She had tried, but it wasn't enough.
The prayers to Badb and Niamh began. Collie prayed for the safe journey of the three souls to Tir-na-nOg to rest with other heroes.
" May the gentle breezes over the western sea guide you safely into Tir-na-nOg. May her warm waters comfort you, her loving earth receive you, and her eternal sacred fires create for you a joyous life anew. So Mote It Be!"
Her voice was quiet and the deep emotion showed upon her pale features. She looked to Seamus for just a moment and then to the departing remains. "Slàn leat."
Collie looked to Sid and instinctively wrapped her in a hug because it would be better understood than words through trembling lips to Sid's eyes. She looked to Jona and spoke quietly, "They are at peace, but I hope someone is burning for what was done to them."
At that moment Collie was thanking the powers that be that Rhi hadn't seen the gruesome sight that she now did in her mind's eye. Although Rhi had seen the demon's slaughtered that had been sent to invade her new home, this was different. This was three men that she had known or read of in the history books. Iain's body in that condition would have likely sent Rhi into deep shock. She knew him, talked to him. The child had always looked up to both
Iain and Seamus as fatherly figures in her life and to see one dead and his body desecrated would have done deep harm to her.
((Author's note: Badb is the Irish goddess who presides over the great cauldron to which all life goes at death and waits to be reborn. She is also called the boiling one.
Niamh is the goddess who befriends warriors at their deaths and leads them to Tir-na-nOg.
Tir-na-nOg, the land of the dead, often called Avalon, the isle of apples, is where legend says King Arthur was taken to rest.
Information can be found in "Celtic Myth and Magick" by Edain McCoy.
Roughly translated Slàn leat means good journey.))