RavenReverend
12-17-2007, 02:54 AM
Looking down on the face of my mentor I realize now what a grave error I have made. Letting these elves into our camp was but the first step on the path toward this destruction. Her fur still feels warm, sticky to the touch as her blood begins to clot and dry. Tears flow unbidden down my cheeks as I realize. This crone. This old bat. She was the closest thing to a mother I’ll ever have.
I gather her to my chest, and weep openly, wondering in the back of my mind when the guards will come upon the scene and beat me for my foolishness…No. They wouldn’t beat the new Crone would they…
“Go away,” I croak hearing the warrior approach the hut and then heard his hoof falls as he swiftly retreated the way he came.
Smoothing her braids, I choke. I was unaware that such an event would affect me this badly. I reach up with one hand and tug the beads free of my hair, white and black feather as well. I kiss the Crone’s forehead tenderly, quite possibly the only affection she had in her lifetime. She was different, my teacher. Cruel, twisted, bent and nearly broken by the people she hid among for so long, but she maintained a level of levelness that I envy.
I don’t have much time with her. I set the beads aside, and reach for hers. While mine are younger, perhaps carrying less weight to them in the spirit world they will still protect her, my mentor, and the good energies she has left on the ones I pluck from her hair…well I need all the help I can get now.
Her spirit watches me in stunned silence. She didn’t expect any of this. Not to be struck down like this, not that I would weep for her. I believe perhaps she is mulling it all over, realizing she is dead. It burns my eyes to look at her but now I cannot help but stare.
“What am I to do?” I ask, my voice threatening to crack as easily as glass.
She stares at me for a long moment seeming to consider the question. She knows I speak with the dead. It was part of the reason she chose me. She knows I can see her. She wanders toward me now, her hand outstretched to cup my cheek, one of the few displays of any kind of maternal warmth she would show, living or dead.
The Sin’Dorei must survive. They have a dire role to play. Save the Sin’Dorei at all costs.
Hearing her speak is like submerging myself in a bath of water, the pressure on my eardrums from the inside, sweet and yet almost painful, as if the voice consists of the static sounds of a waterfall. I close my eyes to enhance it rather than watching her form linger above her corpse.
Get them out of here...get them out of here and get yourself gone. If you do not, the tribe will kill you.
I gather her to my chest, and weep openly, wondering in the back of my mind when the guards will come upon the scene and beat me for my foolishness…No. They wouldn’t beat the new Crone would they…
“Go away,” I croak hearing the warrior approach the hut and then heard his hoof falls as he swiftly retreated the way he came.
Smoothing her braids, I choke. I was unaware that such an event would affect me this badly. I reach up with one hand and tug the beads free of my hair, white and black feather as well. I kiss the Crone’s forehead tenderly, quite possibly the only affection she had in her lifetime. She was different, my teacher. Cruel, twisted, bent and nearly broken by the people she hid among for so long, but she maintained a level of levelness that I envy.
I don’t have much time with her. I set the beads aside, and reach for hers. While mine are younger, perhaps carrying less weight to them in the spirit world they will still protect her, my mentor, and the good energies she has left on the ones I pluck from her hair…well I need all the help I can get now.
Her spirit watches me in stunned silence. She didn’t expect any of this. Not to be struck down like this, not that I would weep for her. I believe perhaps she is mulling it all over, realizing she is dead. It burns my eyes to look at her but now I cannot help but stare.
“What am I to do?” I ask, my voice threatening to crack as easily as glass.
She stares at me for a long moment seeming to consider the question. She knows I speak with the dead. It was part of the reason she chose me. She knows I can see her. She wanders toward me now, her hand outstretched to cup my cheek, one of the few displays of any kind of maternal warmth she would show, living or dead.
The Sin’Dorei must survive. They have a dire role to play. Save the Sin’Dorei at all costs.
Hearing her speak is like submerging myself in a bath of water, the pressure on my eardrums from the inside, sweet and yet almost painful, as if the voice consists of the static sounds of a waterfall. I close my eyes to enhance it rather than watching her form linger above her corpse.
Get them out of here...get them out of here and get yourself gone. If you do not, the tribe will kill you.