Winter Ceramic DM™: THE WINNER!
Cedric
First Post
The Garden of the Moon
The morning was still in the way that only a cold winter morning can be. The only sound was the sharp yet quiet crack of ice on the tree branches as the weight made them settle. But like all moments of serenity, the silence was broken.
The crunch, crunch of snow and ice being packed beneath his heavy winter boots announced his approach long before the burgundy cloak swept into view. Framed beneath the snow-covered rafters of the gazebo, she sat and watched him come.
He stopped a few feet from her and again the serenity of that morning fell about them like a cloak against the cold, only to once again depart as her soft soprano voice nudged away the silence.
”Good morning Milord Edmund, do you bring news?” she greeted him.
”I bring news indeed, Milady,” he answered. ”The mystics have broken their three day seclusion and have come from their home. They announce the time is now, and I shall leave on the hour.”
With a concerned look she continued, ”What of this strangeness I hear, Edmund, that you are taking his beloved Pitr with you?”
Regarding her anew, Edmund paused, then formed an answer reluctantly, ”You are uncommon well informed, Milady Emily. I do indeed bring Pitr with me on this journey. The mystics spoke to him from afar, he is to lead me. Unnatural though it may seem, I am happy to have him with me. I fear without him to guide me, I may never find our Stannis.”
”Bring him back to me Edmund, move Heaven and Earth, but return my love to me,” her eyes and her voice pleaded. ”Give him…give him this.” With deft fingers she removed the silver rose from the clasp of her cloak and passed it to his outstretched palm.
The determination steeled in Edmund’s eyes and with obvious reluctance he spoke, ”I ... I have always loved you as a sister, Milady. If the powers exist to return him, it shall be done. I should have been with him all along, but he insisted that this journey be made alone.”
With a quick turn and flourish of his burgundy cloak serving to hide the emotion welling up in his eyes, Edmund left the snow covered park, his every footfall taking him closer to the mystics, closer to Pitr and closer to finding Stannis or finding death, perhaps both.
_____________________
With a wary glance Edmund regarded the building. The walls of the cottage were draped in pelts and furs and the spicy scent of wood smoke swirled through out the glade. As if knowing he was present, the youngest of the four mystics stepped onto the porch. A comely lass only a few years into her womanhood appraised him behind sky blue eyes. She smiled, but the smile did not touch those eyes.
”Pitr has been prepared for thy Journey, Edmund,” the young mystic informed him. ”Travel yeh wit’ haste. Avoid the towns and villages lest he be seen. He needs not food or water, such concerns are beyond him, yet he will lead you to his master.”
With a sound like a clatter of hard heels on wood, a frightening form shuffled out onto the porch. Once a proud wolfhound, Pitr stood alert, moving into the doorway. Or at least, the bones of him stood. Empty sockets turned to gaze deep into Edmund and he felt his blood turn cold and his mouth fill with ash.
”Yeh must ask him yourself Edmund, he will listen only to you. Make speed though, his bones belong in this world, but his spirit longs to return home.”
His brow knitted in thought, Edmund just nodded. ”Come Pitr, come and lead me to Stannis, take me to our master.” With a nod and shake of his head, the skeleton dog trotted off of the porch and started out, heading immediately south. Edmund turned to follow, leaving the glade, the cottage and the mystic behind.
At the edge of the clearing she called out to him, ”Let the moon guide you Edmund, but step not into its lair lest you first be hidden from its gaze.”
___________________
For months he traveled, by night when possible, by day when he must. The cold of winter broke to give way to spring. Meadows of snow melted to the sludge and mud of early spring, then filled with grass and with the flowers of early summer. Still Pitr lead, still Edmund followed.
In his lonely weeks of travel he reflected on Stannis and took comfort in his childhood. In a time when the will of many would fail, the words of a father to his only son gave him strength to place one foot before the other.
”You are my only son, Edmund. I loved your mother with all that I am, I shall not love another. Her passing,” he paused. ”Her passing has made me less of who I once was. I shall live to see you reach manhood, but doubt to live much longer.”
”Remember your duty my son. Since time long forgotten we have served; our eldest son, in service to the eldest son of the Storm Throne. Yours is the closest voice to his ear. Yours is the sword at his side. Yours is the heart that beats as his does. Make me proud, my son. Our fathers are watching you…”
Edmund spoke his words to the wind and the trees, ”I was not there for your hour of greatest need, Stannis, but I will be there for you evermore.”
With a silent bow, Pitr lead on to the south.
____________________
As they passed from mountains into foothills and down into the valley below, Edmund could see the river snaking through the grasslands and stretching between him and the forest beyond. The river was his greatest obstacle, a mile wide at this stage, creatures living within it made swimming across sheer folly.
With a suddenness that startled Edmund, Pitr came to a halt at a drop off. The steep banks lead down to the river some feet below them. The river stretched more then a mile across, its swirling black depths blocking the trail. Beyond it the forest loomed.
Pitr turned and those empty sockets regarded Edmund, then turned and stared at the forest, then back at Edmund. Suddenly, somehow, he understood, Stannis was to be found in the forest. With a shudder Pitr collapsed to the ground, his bones falling apart into a pile at the edge of the river, and that is just where Edmund buried him, forever gazing across that peaceful river to the beautiful forest beyond.
Despair weighed more heavily than ever across Edmund’s shoulders. Months spent in constant travel, cold camps and scant rations had led him to this point. He dug around inside himself for the will to travel further.
After hours spent in contemplation and depression, Edmund once again steeled his will and looked around, evaluating his situation. Turning upstream he walked for a few miles and saw the light haze of smoke which announced a village just ahead.
As he neared the first people he had come close to in months, Edmund noted the bustle of activity. This was clearly beyond the norm, a festival perhaps? He walked quietly among the villagers. Though he did not know these people it was easy to see that many strangers were in town.
“Welcome All. The Annual River Gala!” a large sign pronounced at the wooden bridge crossing into town proper.
Similar signs lead to the docks where villagers were busily preparing a host of small, colored boats for the gala. Women and children moving among them, painting them in vivid colors, the boats tied end to end for hundreds of feet. Along with larger barges and floats, the village was preparing for a river parade.
The site of people and of foods overwhelming after such a long time in the wood with only Pitr for cold comfort, Edmund stopped and took a room at an inn. Hours later, clean and well fed for the first time in months he tossed and turned on the soft bed, the last one the inn had left and he dreamed.
An ice covered gazebo drifted in his sleeping thoughts and within it sat a beautiful woman…waiting for him.
_______________________
With a start Edmund awoke, a glance outside assured him it was the middle of the night still. Packing his belongings and making his way to the docks, he stepped from one boat to the other as they stretched far out in the river and untied the last one. Taking up the oars, he rowed quickly to the other side and the forest beyond.
The moonlight parted the trees and revealed a trail to him, eerily lit with that silver light. Seemingly drawn along this trail, he followed for hours. Sleeping by day the moon would lead him each night.
Some days passed and Edmund followed intently along the moonlit path, each step becoming more determined, he knew that he was reaching the end of his journey, drawing closer to Stannis.
Storm clouds were building and, as the moon ducked behind them, the path he was following began to disappear into the gloom of night. Resigned that he would have to take the trail up again in the morning Edmund looked around for a place to make camp, and then quickly went still.
His last few steps had brought him into a clearing and within the clearing stood many figures. Edmund stumbled backwards and out of the clearing as the silent eyes watched him without moving.
But…wait…they weren’t moving at all. With surprise Edmund realized he was staring at statues. Intricately carved of wood they were lifelike in a way that no artist could reproduce.
Burying his fear deep inside his heart, Edmund stepped into that quiet, shadowed clearing and walked among the statues. Many stared back at him, some at the ground and some beyond. But one statue caught his gaze from afar.
Curls framed the handsome face of a tall, lean man as he stared up, gazing at the clouds as they hooded the light of the moon. His stunned mine cried, ”Stannis!”
Kneeling at his still lord’s feet, Edmund cried. The emotional release of so many months spent traveling to find Stannis came to a head and Edmund collapsed crying for the statue who had once been his friend and Lord. Minutes went by and the storm was building.
Rain drifted down in drops of ones and twos then more quickly as Edmund continued to cry. Hours went by and the rain fell heavily on the clearing then slowly began to stop. Taking from his coat the rose smithed of silver, Edmund placed it in Stannis’ wooden palm and turned to journey home, to bring news of his Lord’s fate.
With a glance back once more upon the face of his Lord, Edmund froze. A trick of the shadows perhaps, but a single tear, which should have been lost among the rain stained that cheek. Then the eyes of the statue blinked against the few drops of rain as the storm’s fury vented its last upon the clearing.
Hurrying back Edmund was just in time to catch his Lord as he collapsed. At first wary of his own eyes and senses, he touched the teardrop on his Lord’s cheek, a cheek now soft as flesh and warm with blood.
The clouds drifted down to wisps as time went by and Stannis regained his strength. Helping him to his feet Edmund turned a glance towards the sky and could see a sliver of the moon’s edge about to part the mists.
The word’s of the mystic came crashing down upon him, ”Let the moon guide you Edmund, but step not into its lair lest you first be hidden from its gaze.”
A squirrel stirred among the statues at the far edge of the clearing. Prying an acorn from the ground the squirrel held it in both hands and froze forever in that position as the moon finally parted the clouds and turned the squirrel into wood, where it would forever live in the Garden of the Moon.
Lifting his still weak Lord up across his shoulders Edmund bolted for the edge of the clearing. Moonlight spilled out onto the ground behind him hounding his every step and filled the clearing fully as he stepped from it once more into the shelter of the tree line.
Minutes passed before either of them spoke. ”I’ve what I came for Edmund, take me to my love. And…thank you Edmund, I shall never travel without you again.” Lord Stannis Markham, 12th Baron of the Storm Throne clutched the small bundle that many had paid their lives and tears for and followed his friend north.
They traveled north towards home. North where a gazebo draped in flowers stood in a grassy clearing and a woman sat within it, waiting.
Cedric
Cedric
First Post
*sighs*
You edit, re-edit and reread over something until you are sure that it is ready to post. With reluctance and some small amount of pain you hit the submit button, then let out of sigh of relief...
Then almost instantly your relief vanishes as you spot a typo.
*sighs*
Cedric
You edit, re-edit and reread over something until you are sure that it is ready to post. With reluctance and some small amount of pain you hit the submit button, then let out of sigh of relief...
Then almost instantly your relief vanishes as you spot a typo.
*sighs*
Cedric
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Nice work everybody, and thank you for the very entertaining reading. I particularly enjoyed clay's story--the in-character discussion about Marines vs. Merchant Marines reminded me of character creation in Traveller. And Piratecat's fairy tale was wonderfully crafted.
Mythago, where'd you get that bonneterre image? The one of the huge cavern. It's unlike any cavern I've ever seen. Is it a mine of some sort?
-z, caver
Mythago, where'd you get that bonneterre image? The one of the huge cavern. It's unlike any cavern I've ever seen. Is it a mine of some sort?
-z, caver
mythago
Hero
It's the Bonne Terre Mine, in (go figure) Bonne Terre, Missouri. I believe it is a man-made mine. They used to mine it for lead, but now it's a tourist attraction, and a darn fine one at that.Zaruthustran said:
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