You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: The Butcher and the Doe  (Read 1005 times)

Pav

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The Butcher and the Doe
« on: February 13, 2017, 04:38:03 AM »
The fog that surrounded her had dissipated, and while she was still in a forest clearing, it was not the same one that she had been in just a few moments before. Struggling to rise to her own two feet, she suppressed the yelps of pain borne of the exhaustion and the breathless, cold sensation that hampered her rib-cage. Her breaths came out as if hoarse, languid gasps, each and every one, for a long time, as she recovered from the chase and the grasp of calloused hands around her neck. Her heart still racing, she took a better look of her surrounds. It was late in the autumn season, with all the trees bare of their leaves save a few odd, brown bits that seemed to be just ready to shrivel and be carried away on the light, chilly breeze. Odd, she thought to herself - it was very clearly a northern summer just then, with the sun shining and the trees green and healthy. The dirt was not as dark and patched with dead grass, either - it was rocky, and the grass was full and long, brimming and only adding to the vibrancy of that section of the land she had just then traversed. Though the most bizarre thing of all, even more bizarre than the fact it had been morning and it was now the twilight hour, is that her assailant, the man holding his hands to her neck, was gone, without a trace.

Bizarre indeed, but she was grateful for that. An act of the gods, she thought to herself, and reflexively smiled as if reassured, with only the forest remaining witness to her. The girl was barely into her twenties, diminutive and thin, and her dirty, messy tangle of a hair was colored chocolate brown, hiding the front of her visage and the forest green eyes that were bleared open as she took in her surroundings. She had left her supplies at her camp when she was accosted by her pursuer, and made away as quick as she could, and so on her person she only had her simple, leathered travel wear that was more fit for an aristocrat lady's attendance to a noble hunt than any sort of real protection, and an old waterskin, only filled halfway. It was with this she had to survive the place she had been mysteriously deposited into, but the first question she needed to find an answer to that she could not with what her eyes beheld, is where exactly she was.

And so, she set off south, or what she guessed was south by the sun's setting point, and made it quick of pace. For a long time of the night, there was nothing but howls, growls, and shifting bushes - every single step of hers was difficult as terror and fear slowly threatened to overtake sense. She was being watched, by predators nightly and otherwise, but none had made their move. She swore that she had heard several feet shuffling, and a moan escaping the maw of something rotten and broken, but she pressed herself to carry on. She had found a stream to replenish her waterskin, had caught a rabbit with makeshift bait and a snare, and managed to find shelter for the nights to come, all coming to her with great difficulty, but she managed it. Days and nearly weeks passed before she made sight of a settlement - a town, of decent size, as well - and made haste toward it.

Finding her way within, she had never seen such people, or such a place. Halflings roamed and milled about to work on their simple chores, and gnomish traders peddling in... things she could not truly fathom, as well as dwarves showcasing their crafted goods brought from afar. Yet, all these, even the humans, her ilk among them and by far the most numerous and varied, were speaking a tongue she did not understand, and could not understand. She had caught a few words of Common between the tumult and commotion of the market day, though for all intents and purposes, she seemed a lost dog growing more and more afraid of its time alone, and it showed. By the way people viewed her, if naught else, though she mustered the courage to ask one, rather seedy individual where it was she had found herself in. Flashing her a broad smile, the worker announced in an accentuated Common
, "Why, this is Corvia, my friend! Brightest spot this side of the Mounts of Misery, hrah." He laughed, rather brashly and ruffled her hair as if she was a child, moving away with his group of friends to go have a drink at the nearest tavern, leaving the girl to her thoughts and considerations, and sudden panic - she had never heard of either location, or read of it on any map. The man must've been mad, but every other she tried after said the same, some even going into length so as to explain that this is Darkon, and it is in The Core; both places that she had never heard of. They offered consolation, or so it had seemed to her, that she will grow to like it... speaking as if she was not the only one.

It was a bittersweet dream, she felt, as she returned to her camp some leagues away from the town. Perhaps she had died in his grasp, or perhaps she was indeed let away by a god's will. Either way, she was glad to still feel some semblance of her life in her body. Settling down underneath and against a tree at her makeshift camp, she curled up her knees against herself and embraced them as she delved deeper into her thoughts...

For the next weeks and months, she had acted in trade with the town of Corvia, catching her meagre hunts for some more variable supply and diet and when it grew too cold, she had stayed in one of the many inn's within. Come Spring, she made away again.

The dream had took to mocking her, or mayhap, simply play along to her wishes. One foggy morn, she stirred and found that her name eluded her. Her name... the very essence of who she was, and what defined her... it was gone - no, wait, she remembered it now. Clear as day, and she wondered why she even had those ludicrous thoughts to begin with.

Her name was Laryn Morse, and she was going down into Corvia, the town of her birth, to trade away some of yesterday's catches. After both her parents died, she had little other choice than to take to hunting, for she found other occupations to be unsavory and unbefitting to her skills. Giddily marching along with her hunting bow strung over shoulder, she somehow could not help but feel a somewhat melancholy, bittersweet sensation.
« Last Edit: February 13, 2017, 04:42:12 AM by Pav »

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Dreams
« Reply #1 on: February 14, 2017, 12:34:49 PM »
The city's towers of marble and gold towered all the way to the dim, cloudy sky. Its avenues and boulevards were awash with life, even at night, and street lights kept it illuminated throughout the dark hours of every single day. It was obvious that the season was spring, with fully leaved trees dotting the various parks and canals, and flora bloomed wherever one might look, along with vines and moss that crawled on the sides of every artificially antiquated building, touching up on the city's already vibrant aura to keep it just so to any that beheld it. Open air restaurants and markets seemed to flourish, and the taverns held as many of the purple-clad soldiers that kept the peace as the streets did, their work lax at this time of year and the time for merriment over recent victories only now beginning. The docks stretched along the bay for several miles, bustling with activity at every hour as domestic and foreign merchants sailed into port or departed on their next voyage, unloading goods and spices from far off lands and closer allies of the realm.

It was truly one of the most magnificent sights in all the North, and only few cities dared to compete with all its splendors, and the opulence of its aristocracy - opulence displayed even in simple dinners. In an inner city estate, not so far from the King's palace, a family of three sat down to have such a meal. The chandelier that lent its light to the massive dining hall was in itself worth a man's weight in gold, as did most other objects that were placed in the room for decoration - a suit of ceremonial armor propped on a dummy, several locked wooden cabinets that for all intents and purposes, only served to keep as a stand for various vases of porcelain and different species of flowers, that were freshly placed. The furniture as a whole was crafted out of smooth mahogany, the latter of which were embedded with soft red pillows, threaded with silver, and the silverware contained intricate designs of the family's symbols - stag antlers and rose vines. At the head of the table sat the Lord, a well muscled, broad shouldered man in his middle thirties with short blonde hair atop his crown and a cropped beard on his jaw, both stylized for elegance.  His garb and appearance were meticulous, even for such a casual event as dinner with his loved ones, though having earned his titles through his military shrewdness, that same role kept him away from them for too long every time he was summoned to fulfill his duty. As such, his brown eyes were alight with mirth as he laughed along to his Lady's jape, a woman of like age but of petite appearance. Her silken red dress, however impressive it had been worn on her person, was of simple design, and fit her frame just so. Full, vibrant brown hair cascaded down to her shoulders and green eyes squinted in slightly exaggerated laughter, as if to continue spurring her family along. Just in front of her and to the Lord's left sat a young girl, barely past the years of adolescence, that stroke her resemblance in every single way. The same brown hair that was kept tidy, few curls draping down to her cheeks and the rest of it held above in a bun, and the same green eyes spoke that she did not find it all that amusing, though she laughed along regardless. A touch smaller than her mother, she was dressed in a wide white dress for the occasion, one she found more than uncomfortable but kept her quiet - she knew arguments would have led nowhere when she was putting it on. The evening went on, the family kept to their dinner and for those few hours, they all felt at peace...

Though she, who was watching from the corner of the room, between a pair of cabinets and right in front of a tall window that overlooked the central square, could not hear a word, or even fully register their features. She stared, and could not move, not for the length of the evening. She could not understand - who were those people? Why did she find their presences familiar? Why... why was the room, at all familiar to the daughter of a poor butcher? It did not make sense, though more than intriguing her, it terrified her, for a reason she could not explain. The dream quickly became a nightmare as the sensations sunk through to her mind and her thoughts turned wild and rabid, craving an escape.

All while she writhed, the dinner quietened, and for a time there came nothing but the muffled chewing of the younger girl. Setting his silverware down with a soft clink, the Lord propped his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers, looking to his daughter with a look that resembled sorrow. His wife did similarly, though set her hands neatly on the table and cleared her throat, before what would normally have been a soft, melodious voice boomed out in the dining hall like thunder.


"Ysolde... We have something to tell you."

Laryn Morse screamed at the top of her lungs, and then there was nothing.
« Last Edit: February 14, 2017, 09:41:25 PM by Pav »

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Dreams, II
« Reply #2 on: February 14, 2017, 10:37:27 PM »
The morbid, skeletal masks worn on each individual face amongst the crowd gave the dimly lit parade an eerie feel despite the lively ambience. It was early November, and the Festival of the Dead had just begun in the streets of Corvia, and though she had seen it many times before, Laryn still beheld it with wonderment. She was not a part of the revelers, as she had always found such business to be out of her ability for merriment and jape, though she still laughed as a drunkard slipped and was stepped over by those that mimicked the shambling drive of the undead, and still smiled at the sight of children running and milling about and wearing their own masks.

In particular, she enjoyed the myriad of colors and decorations on display over every single building in the city. Despite it being only barely bright enough for such an hour of the evening, the colorful drawings of the dead. The most unpleasant beings she had ever thought could exist - even if she was used to their existing - put into something that was at least easy on the eyes, an accomplishment, she mused to herself, that was not possible anywhere but in Darkon. Though, as she kept ambling on and on further into the depths of the city, the traffic and flow of people celebrating the holiday dwindled, until no one passed the streets along with her. The dim lights had all but vanished, leaving her in momentary darkness, yet her feet carried her onward regardless, despite the sudden sense of terror that accelerated the beats of her heart.

When all came to, she no longer recognized where she was - it was not Corvia, nor any street within it, but someplace else. The same opulent, extravagant capital from her dreams, with its splendors stretching far and wide around her and its marbled, golden towers stretching far up into the twilight sky. She stood in a wide boulevard, the flora's presence more overwhelming than that of light; oak and beech trees growing alongside each other in thought-out places, along with rows and rows of trimmed busheds adorned with their picked blossoms. The way was relatively void of traffic, and again, her steps carried her without a thought for pause, passing by workers milling about outside a café or or a patrol of guards on the other side of the boulevard. To her front came approaching two figures, ones she had seen before, once - or was it more? Their features blurred in the distant, she could make out the expensive military vest of a commanding officer, decorated with his proper noble titles, and the young girl walking alongside with his arm laced into hers wore a simply designed blue dress. As their distance closed, she recognized them as the ones from her dream a few nights prior - the man with his militaristic discipline and appearance, and the small, skittish girl, both of whom were too familiar for her to feel comfortable. They were arguing, and so it had intensified as she paced near, her heart racing and threatening to burst out of her chest. She, again, had not heard a word, until she had passed close enough to see the pores on their skin and the tears that slithered down from the girl's eyes. It was then, that she heard the explosive roll of thunder that was the Lord's voice,


"...YOU MUST."

The city crumbled around her, imploding to the point of her feet, and her heart sank with it.