Monday, September 29, 2008

Turmoil

She had been falling apart for a long time now, held together by the will and the love of a man whom some part of her had always known would go to his God. It did not make the hurt at his loss any less, but dealing with it had not come as too great a surprise to her, nor was it as difficult.

She could feel herself crumbling though, around the edges, like a sandcastle that has stood too long without repair. Trickling away, returning to the ground and the sand below it.

The music in her soul, the ever faint, ever present whisper of the haunting song that was with her day or night was becoming too much to bear. Years had passed and with his help, she had been able to function past it, learn to ignore it, protect her delicate sanity but the days of nothing - of having nothing to focus on but the loss and the pain were taking their toll.

She had tread this path before, when she had wandered the wilds, looking for some new place to belong, knowing in her soul - that still longed for and might always long for - the Vallenwood, that another place might only ever offer distraction.

She was shaking again, the tremors had slowly begun to move up from her fingers, her hands, to her body and that was unacceptable. She was not a leaf, to tremble before the wind. She had always been the fire that consumed it.

She felt her breath shake as she closed her eyes and forced herself to find that inner calm, to grasp and hold it. Her lost melody was there, as always, making it nearly impossible and anger quickly rose to smother her control.

She opened her eyes, feeling bereft, lost in a sea of confusion and found herself looking up at the statue of Raije. The hesitation, perhaps, in the thought of 'letting go' was that even in death she would not join her lost husband who had always been set on a different path. No, he was at Necrucifer's side and she...would go nowhere, so torn was she that in her heart, she believed that there would be little more then a void to welcome her when death finally came.

She looked back up at the statue of Raije, the shrine nestled comfortably against Necrucifer's temple, and begged within the chaotic confines of her mind for an answer.

It came quietly, moments later, a memory dredged up from her past, and with a strange sense of relief, she drew her elven blade, dug a soft cloth from a pouch and began the surprisingly simple process of polishing a sword that had never needed it.

Bitter News

The bleak chill that wrapped her heart was unlike most of the emotions she had ever experienced before. It was numbing, painful, if put to small words but she stood where she was and let it in. Denial had never caused her anything but lingering grief and so, she hid none of herself as she let the truth settle in her head. She had no reason to doubt the words of an Elder of Shadow.

She was alone. Again. And with that thought, the curse that she had thought was mere imagination, arose to blacken her very sight. She had warned Reklah though.

'They all fell to death. All but one, who left.'

The world spun around her, the sounds of people talking, of business going on as usual, but there was no comfort to be found in any of it. She opened her eyes, finding herself still standing within Verminasia's Temple, the curious gaze of the priestess watching her closely. She had no idea what emotion, if any, was plastered upon her face but the priestess turned away abruptly when Nymaya met her gaze.

No one spoke to her as she paced away from the Temple, into the streets, trying to decide upon the warring emotions within herself and if any of themwere truly worthy of her. Would Reklah have wanted vengeance? Acceptance? Had his demise been more than it appeared to be? Should she give in to useless hatred for the God's forsaken paladin who had apparently slain him? Did any of these sentiments really do justice to the devotion she had shared with Reklah?

She thought back to the crazed paladin who had torn out his own eye before her and wondered at her choice of words when she had turned to her companion and expressed that she felt the world would be better off with one less sane paladin amongst it.

Noting her hands were shaking, though she couldn't yet feel much more then a thin current of grief and confusion, she curled her fingers into fists and simply strode away from the city, trying to escape the emptiness it seemed to embody - or perhaps it was the emptiness that yawned inside her that she was trying to outrun.

Eye of the Beholder

The cloth sat open before her and upon it was the now dried out eye sitting beneath a pool of dried blood. The contrast of rusty brown against the white of the fabric was not as startling as had been the fresh blood but it was still clear in her mind.

She tried to feel something then. Disgust, horror, pain or remorse but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

'The world could do with one less sane paladin.'

Her own words, whispering back to her from the marshy realm of Abaddon.Unease followed and she was glad for that little bit, though why it was important to her, she couldn't have said.

How could a man cut out his own eye? She found her gaze lifting to glance at the heavens above, and the answer was suddenly quite understandable. Disgust came now, but not for the deed that the insane paladin had done before her eyes. No, it was directed at the heavens and the Gods of Light. Faith - or lack of it - could do horrible things to a person.

Rewrapping the eye, his 'gift' to her, she carefully placed it away and decided that she was going to be a little more careful with her wording around the less than stable of mind.


"Eye of the beholder...indeed." She muttered to herself and proceeded out of the temple and into the streets of Verminasia.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Harsh Reality: Duty Bound (Part 5 - End)

The rain fell in a steady torrent, obscuring the world in shades of
gray. The chill air drove through cloak and garment, through skin and
bone to grip the very marrow within, leaving only discomfort in its
place.


She had never felt more alone - had never wanted to be so alone - in
all the long years of her not so long life.


She had climbed to the highest battlements surrounding the elven
Palace and stood now, her gaze unfocused as she looked out over
Shalonesti in all its drenched glory.


Black cloak pulled tight around her and the hood drawn far down over
her face, its ends snapped gently about her booted ankles in the ensuing
winds that gusted, the rain running in continuous rivulets down its
dark folds. She remained nothing more than a cold black statue, her
mind clinging to the thought that the weather was fitting in so many ways.


For brief seconds then, seconds that seemed to last an eternity, she
felt the remembered pulse of his heartbeat around the cold steel of
her blade..


'From whence he began, so has he ended.'

She closed her eyes slowly, her hand seeking out the hilt of her
sword. She gripped the worn leather hilt so hard, she felt her own
heartbeat thrum in her palm and along her fingers. The song lifted
then, as if in anticipation, and drove back the chill though again,
it had not the power to save her from the desolation within, nor the
haunting gray eyes that swam up within the depth of her to stare
lifelessly.


Gray eyes so like to her lost husband's..

The violence with which she thrust that from her brought on a flow of
painful anger that burned nearly out of control for mere moments,
before it banked and disappeared as if it had never been. The thought
- the comparison - was unwelcome and unnecessary at most.


A flash of lightning, sudden in its intensity, split the sky as she
opened her eyes and leaned her head back to let the rain wash over
her face. The torrent became a fully fledged downpour then that
soaked through her cloak, the sky darkening perceptibly as the
moments passed by...and yet she remained, knowing only that she
could not yet go home to her daughter.


She wondered then, fleetingly, if her best friend would forever judge
her. If one day, her daughter would look upon her with disgust, what
her royal ward would have to say when he found out and whether or not
the King would understand.


"Rest in the peace of Her graces, Lendach" she whispered into the
rolling creshendo of thunder and placed her doubts tentatively to the
side.


She had done her duty.

Harsh Reality: A Calm within the Storm (Part 4)

Things were indeed changing.

Nymaya paced slowly through her daughter's room, into the living
space and then back, her steps silent and fluid. Delabriel,
meanwhile, slept peacefully within her arms, cradled against her
chest.


Her features remained distant as she moved, her gaze clouded as she
heeded the nearly dormant presence of her song, all the while her thoughts

strayed along the paths of past and present.

There was a palpable peace now, as if she had found the eye of the
hurricane. The low lying heartache was still there, the hollow
sensation left in the wake of the divorce, but whatever understanding
she had come to leant a needed measure of comfort. The loss of her
husband and the injury to her heart that that loss had created would
always be there, it was a part of her and would continue to shape the
way she lived and made decisions, but she had a balancing force now.


Lowering her gaze, she looked upon Delabriel, resting so quietly
within the embrace of her arms.


'..I have a daughter to look after now. It is more than I could have
asked for.
'


She had spoken those words to Da'shal, not with the intention of
explaining herself, but to remind herself that she had reason enough
not to fall into lingering despair.


' I will not spend my days and nights pining for what was lost. It is
not within me to do so.
'


She paused in her pacing, only briefly, and focused upon Delabriel.

She had enough reason, here in her arms, to keep her soul from that
dark descent and even as her own words faded, a remembered moment
within the company of her friend, Linot resurfaced.


'..what have I brought her unto, Linot?'

'It is not paradise, but it is a world in which she will make her own
choices.
'


'Love her, for that is the joy of the world.'

'And accept her choices, that she may find a better way.'

Linot had been right, and more than right.

Reflecting upon that, she found herself amazed at the depth Linot
could manage, but was not overly surprised. She was the most
insightful person Nymaya had ever met.


Curving a wisp of a smile, Nymaya stopped her pacing and shifted one
of her arms from beneath Delabriel to run her hand over her
daughter's hair. The touch prompted Delabriel to open her eyes,
blinking sleepily, and just as soon close them.


"We'll see how things turn out." Nymaya whispered softly and fell
back into a detached silence, her pacing resuming its slow cycle
through the house.

Harsh Reality: Letting Go (Part 3)

The song whispered to her, beckoned her, writhed within her
soul. It lifted up from the very depth of her, even past that
yawning pit of grief she had run from, to envelop what was
left. The pain became a dull ache, her weariness forgotten. The
only thing it seemed unable to do was save her from the
desolation that had grown inside her. Her husband had left her,
left their child.


'..need to let it go.'

Her fists tightened about the hilt of her sword, her leather
gloves protesting the strain about her whitened knuckles
beneath. Its tip was firmly embeded within the moss that
covered the ground of the Grove, the silver rays of the moon
glimmering off of the elven blade. Her forehead was pressed to
that cool metal, seeking refuge in its unforgiving solidity.


Silver swaths of hair spilled down over her back, over her
shoulders, appearing white against the black of her cloak,
which effectively concealed her body and kept her somewhat
hidden within the deepest shadows the Grove of Song had to
offer. The darkness helped, allowing her to drift as time
passed on and she eventually found that her mind had cleared.
It was only then that she slowly straightened her back, pulling
away from the blade to rest against the twisted Vallenwood.


It was with a detached sense that she found herself gazing
toward the canopy above and the hard gray light of dawn that
was even then spreading across the sky. She hadn't bothered to
keep track of the passage of time. She was only vaguely aware
of the stirring of the Grove, the elves awakening, beginning to
move about with the day's business but she made certain,
however, to note the passage of Lendach as he moved about.


Sitting in the back of the grove, her presence still and
shadowed, she wasn't certain he noticed her and if he did he
did not make it known. In the end, she was merely content to
keep her silence. Lendach was an issue she was not yet ready to
delve into though every sense within her felt the need to
address it.


"Shalonesti may or may not need my assistance. I will give it
as I always have. Nameless, Kyorl, Senator, what I am allowed
to do as each varies, but the reason for doing it remains the
same.
"


His words arose within her memory, the tone respectful but
brooking no argument. That had been one of the many aspects
about him that had put her on the defense and had made her feel
her intolerable youth as compared to he and Da'shal.


Remembered frustration began to simmer beneath the surface but
again, she curbed the unwanted emotion ruthlessly and contented
herself to merely watch him as he attempted to rehone his
skills. He seemed a picture of two rivaling forces to her;
bearing entwined auras of wild chaos and approachable trust.
The two seemed so unrelated to her and ultimately it brought
her confusion to bear. She had mentioned as much to Linot when
inquiring as to her experience with the elf.

'He was as much an enigma now to her as Da'shal had always
been
'
she thought to herself with a minute shake of her head.

Her features blank, she finally rose up silently and sheathed
her sword with a quick snap, earning a barely noticed glance
from the other elf.

'Everything was changing' came her last thought as she moved
past Lendach, giving the other elf a glance but keeping her
silence. She wanted to get home before her daughter woke.