Date: 9/13/2000 9:53 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Beck Weller
He tried to move, to struggle, to do anything. He was helplessly bound though, his arms stretched at such an angle above him as to make his elbows cry in pain. Pinioned on the slab of white marble, he couldn't help but think of how similar this was to the rack that Mistress had in the dungeon. He almost wished he were there instead. But that would be a new pain, one that he hadn't endured before. At least
this was familiar.
Unable to even move his head by virtue of the wide strap holding his forehead, he was forced to stare at the vaulted ceiling above him. The only stimuli available to him other than pain of overstressed joints was the acrid smell of the smoke in the brazier burning somewhere to his left, where the dagger lay on the coals, being cleansed.
Mistress Launna's face moved into his field of vision, he knew it was time. Closing his eyes, he bit down hard on the leather gag that always blocked his teeth when he wasn't eating.
The touch of hot steel against his throat blazed through his dark vision in exploding reds and yellows, searing pain shot through his body and dropped into the pit of his stomach....
Then he woke.
He awoke gasping, fighting for the air that in his mind should be riddled with blood and seared tissues. The gasping inevitably wore on his scarred throat, he ended up lurching to an unsteady sitting position as he started coughing violently, supporting himself on an outstretched arm.
As he regained control of his labored breathing and sore larynx, pale eyes lift up to the pink and orange of the sun lifting over the horizon. The icy bite of pain remembered, as well as the chill of the night, slowly fades as the emerging sun strengthens on his skin. He had moved to sleeping in the park for just this reason, the sun always seemed to alleviate his nightmares somewhat. Those benevolent rays never touched his old pack of blankets
outside the Red Dragon Inn.
Rising from the grass, a wink of red catches his peripheral. It was FireStar, gleaming with its own internal light on his wrist.
Why can't you at least save me in my dreams?
A grunt escapes his lips as he stretches, arching his arms above his head. In the sunshine, FireStar sparkles brightly, then fades.
"What Dreams May Come"
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Re: "What Dreams May Come"
Date: 9/15/2000 10:07 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Beck Weller
He sat in the greater bailey, amid the hedges that hemmed in the main garden entertainment area. The sounds of a string orchestra echoed hollowly through his dream-ears, as if rebounding down a long hallway. In his scarred hands, which were customarily attached by a ring through his bracers, he carried a heavy wine pitcher.
"Beck, your guests are waiting." Dawn gently jostled him from his momentary lapse of attention with her soft words and a touch on his shoulder, sending him scurrying down the length of the table to the woman gesturing impatiently with her empty glass. The redhead quickly looked at her liege, making sure the slave's unscheduled break had gone unnoticed. It had, thankfully enough.
He knelt in the grass of the garden while the lady of the castle lowered her goblet to the appropriate height, so he could properly fill it with the crimson wine. Her attention was clearly focused not on him, but on the spectacle on the lawn in front of them where one of his fellow servants was being subjected to a test of body. He knew the ordeal well without even lifting his own eyes, he had endured it himself yesterday.
Beck could hear the ropes creaking with ever-increasing tension, the slave's held breath barely containing his cry for mercy. If the rope broke before the slave's will did, he would be greatly rewarded. Beck, however, was still serving wine at the games instead of laying about in the barley fields.
With a whiplike crack, the line snaps, the slave falls. The other end of the rope sails forth and tags Beck's cheek, nearly causing him to drop the pitcher in surprise. However, the events of the past meld with newly learned reflexes and he lashes out, hurling the porcelain vessel at the guardswoman attending the event.
The entire assembly rises in shock at Beck's action, Mistress Launna's mouth moves silently as she points the rest of the guard to seize him.
Despite being previously incapacitated, his hands instinctively come up before his face, crackling, covered in flames. A bright red light emanates from his left arm as he feels a glory surging up from the bottom of his heart, an abandon glee as he steps forward to do battle with the Queen's army.
He moved with forbidden grace and fortitude, each of the guardswomen falling beneath his fiery onslaught. The skills he learned in the Outback and honed in the park come frightfully to life as he turns next on the party attendees, their bodies withering like dry tinder beneath the flames exploding from each blow he lands upon them.
As the glorious song of released fury winds to an end, he gradually calms and becomes still. His hands drop, cool flesh now touching his thighs. All around him was desolate; the garden, the castle, the entire landscape was now a barren, smoking, rust-colored plain. The sun was setting in pinks and oranges on the horizon, everything was utterly silent.
The sunrise once again found its way into a sleeping Beck's eyes, coaxing them open with a warm orange touch. Shards of the dream still cling to him as he curls up, drawing his knees in against his chest and scooting back against a tree.
He rests his chin on his knees, wrapping arms around all, to watch the remainder of the sunrise. The dream still came strikingly to mind, as did two other facts that he simply could not ignore; FireStar had helped him, and for the first time in his life, he hadn't woken up frightened.
From: Beck Weller
He sat in the greater bailey, amid the hedges that hemmed in the main garden entertainment area. The sounds of a string orchestra echoed hollowly through his dream-ears, as if rebounding down a long hallway. In his scarred hands, which were customarily attached by a ring through his bracers, he carried a heavy wine pitcher.
"Beck, your guests are waiting." Dawn gently jostled him from his momentary lapse of attention with her soft words and a touch on his shoulder, sending him scurrying down the length of the table to the woman gesturing impatiently with her empty glass. The redhead quickly looked at her liege, making sure the slave's unscheduled break had gone unnoticed. It had, thankfully enough.
He knelt in the grass of the garden while the lady of the castle lowered her goblet to the appropriate height, so he could properly fill it with the crimson wine. Her attention was clearly focused not on him, but on the spectacle on the lawn in front of them where one of his fellow servants was being subjected to a test of body. He knew the ordeal well without even lifting his own eyes, he had endured it himself yesterday.
Beck could hear the ropes creaking with ever-increasing tension, the slave's held breath barely containing his cry for mercy. If the rope broke before the slave's will did, he would be greatly rewarded. Beck, however, was still serving wine at the games instead of laying about in the barley fields.
With a whiplike crack, the line snaps, the slave falls. The other end of the rope sails forth and tags Beck's cheek, nearly causing him to drop the pitcher in surprise. However, the events of the past meld with newly learned reflexes and he lashes out, hurling the porcelain vessel at the guardswoman attending the event.
The entire assembly rises in shock at Beck's action, Mistress Launna's mouth moves silently as she points the rest of the guard to seize him.
Despite being previously incapacitated, his hands instinctively come up before his face, crackling, covered in flames. A bright red light emanates from his left arm as he feels a glory surging up from the bottom of his heart, an abandon glee as he steps forward to do battle with the Queen's army.
He moved with forbidden grace and fortitude, each of the guardswomen falling beneath his fiery onslaught. The skills he learned in the Outback and honed in the park come frightfully to life as he turns next on the party attendees, their bodies withering like dry tinder beneath the flames exploding from each blow he lands upon them.
As the glorious song of released fury winds to an end, he gradually calms and becomes still. His hands drop, cool flesh now touching his thighs. All around him was desolate; the garden, the castle, the entire landscape was now a barren, smoking, rust-colored plain. The sun was setting in pinks and oranges on the horizon, everything was utterly silent.
The sunrise once again found its way into a sleeping Beck's eyes, coaxing them open with a warm orange touch. Shards of the dream still cling to him as he curls up, drawing his knees in against his chest and scooting back against a tree.
He rests his chin on his knees, wrapping arms around all, to watch the remainder of the sunrise. The dream still came strikingly to mind, as did two other facts that he simply could not ignore; FireStar had helped him, and for the first time in his life, he hadn't woken up frightened.