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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="Alexander Bryant" data-source="post: 7120211" data-attributes="member: 6884000"><p><strong>The Journal of Etona: Her History</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>The Journal of Etona: History</strong></p><p></p><p>My mother perished in birthing me, as many had expected.</p><p></p><p>She had been ill for several arcs, and the only surprising thing about her death was that I was born whole, if tiny: a small baby destined to be a weak child. These are truths, and not points along a constellation of woe. I was then and am now a happy soul, but being frail and diminutive among a sleek, strong people presented obstacles to me and my father. I could not keep up with friends and cousins.</p><p></p><p>Skava, my father, did not know end to patience where his daughter was concerned, however. And with a loving cousin Verdre and fiercely protective Uncle Skaen, I managed to love life regardless.</p><p></p><p>I was inquisitive and given to exploration, and so as the rest of my kin looked up and out, my gaze remained low as suited my stature. Assembling herbs and salts from soil and water became my passion. I learned to use them to prepare joyful food. With Verdre’s help, I found other uses for plain ingredients in wondrous combinations, and so I began to create elixirs of minor use too.</p><p></p><p>This is all to say that I had no reason to care that I could not draw back a bow, let fly the streaking sliver, be the cause to see it soar.</p><p></p><p>This is my first lie to you, for of course I cared. Our people are devoted to a laughing trickster of a goddess who enforces unexpectedly specific rules about the weapons we bear and the food we eat. But I was ever too small, too frail, and the bow I eventually tamed as a young adult was little more than a training implement for a child. It was an insult to Her Fickle Majesty. Thus, I concentrated in steering my fate towards not tempting fate; to be useful in small ways, as a ‘chef’ (I believe is the human word), an herbalist and mixer of plants, spices, even oils and essences. An unimportant life, a content existence, and one I embraced since I should not have survived at all.</p><p></p><p>My silver-gold hair and silver-green eyes marked me, apparently, in some way that others saw, and so I was treated with patience until I made true friendships. The tribe waited, but I didn’t know for what.</p><p></p><p>And then one day . . . .</p><p></p><p>“You will not need those,” father said as I struggled to don my gloves for another disheartening practice. He took them and tossed them aside.</p><p></p><p>I do not know to this day what the occasion was, why he chose that rainy afternoon to bestow upon me a thing that had been merely history to me.</p><p></p><p>With unaccustomed solemnity, he knelt down in front of me and unwrapped a legend.</p><p></p><p>Angivre. The Empty Bow. Sehanine’s Test. An Aspianne heirloom given – so the histories read – to my mother’s mother, Fiora Aspianne, from the goddess herself. A gift, a challenge, to an elven people settling around Emersanine, Her mirror in the midst of that gorgeous forest we are so recently transplanted to. I could fill a tome with its stories of triumph and disappointment, and how it rose up my family and brought it low again.</p><p></p><p>“Fail until you succeed,” my father uttered in presenting it to me. With characteristic affection, he brushed the hair out of my eyes, held my forehead to his lips a moment, and then left me with that towering silver weapon, it and I alone on the shore.</p><p></p><p>The Empty Bow is called that because it has no notches for a cord. It has no cord. And it fires no arrows. A lifetime of struggling to shoot half as well as a one-legged hiccupping goblin to prepare me for a bow with no string.</p><p></p><p>My mother’s mother was the last person to be able to bring the Silver. She would smile in a way generally unknown to our people, it was said, and betwixt her fingers spun out a shimmering line of argent from coalescing shards of radiance. As she drew it back, one of the shards flared to white, becoming the arrow, a flaring bolt that left the bow with a sound like musically-tuned metals scraping against one another. She needed no muscle for this act of tranquil grace, only love of the arrow’s flight. None since her have ever drawn back the Silver, and it has been the Empty Bow for almost three centuries now.</p><p></p><p>For many seasons I could not find the cord. The Silver did not come. I sat at the shore under Sehanine’s white gaze and heard Her mocking amongst the sounds of the woods. In Angivre, She tested neither my skill nor my remembering of lessons, but my heart. And so season after season I studied the Silver. Season after season I carried her and spoke to her and slept with the utterly silent thing.</p><p></p><p>One evening I drowned, almost. Nearly ended, but it was the second start in my life.</p><p></p><p>I was never a strong swimmer, another frailty, but I was competent. And I craved plunging into the frigid water, despite my difficulties.</p><p></p><p>One evening, several of us were diving under Sehanine’s crescent, our first opportunity since new moon to frolic there at night. I had Angivre. Yes, I would even swim with her – my father said water would not harm her.</p><p></p><p>Angivre became ensnared in something. I worked to free her – though at that time I thought of her as it – but whatever tugged at her pulled us both down deeper and deeper. I could not let her slip away. I would rather die than return to my father without her, and so I plunged on to depths I had never descended to. Marvels passed me by, likely my breath giving way and my dying body conjuring phantoms. They were going to be the last things I ever saw before waking in the Court of the Queen to await the judgment of her mood that morning.</p><p></p><p>I landed among illuminated statues encrusted with plankton and sponges. Only a little surprisingly, one of them tilted its head and regarded me.</p><p></p><p>“What is your name, little rag doll?” it said without moving its lips or blowing bubbles of air or anything else to indicate any of this was really happening.</p><p></p><p>I could not reply, of course.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, of course you can,” said another, also inclining its head to me.</p><p></p><p>“Very well. I am Etona Aspianne.” I did not say the words so much as mouth them.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, did you hear that?” Still another statue.</p><p></p><p>“Etona Aspianne.”</p><p></p><p>“So proud of her line of rag dolls before her.”</p><p></p><p>“She is accidentally born of this or that blood and –”</p><p></p><p>“– thinks it something. Yes.” The original statue again. “Why are you down here, Etona?”</p><p></p><p>“Angivre led me here.”</p><p></p><p>“To drown for a piece of wood?”</p><p></p><p>“To drown for its history!” I replied. “Not for a piece of wood.” Though I now saw my folly. My death in rescuing a bow, however famous, would slay my father. What had I been thinking?</p><p></p><p>A statue from the back. “She is a child. And she followed her heart. I forgive!” Others chimed in, some with support, some with jeers for my foolishness, jeers for my bow skills, even for my size. They were all different likenesses of Sehanine, I noticed.</p><p></p><p>All fell quiet when the original statue spoke again.</p><p></p><p>“Etona, you do not get to die today in trying to save a thing. Sehanine’s Test is not to possess or master the pretty white bow; it is something else entirely, something you will endeavor to discover when I return you to your little tribe. But as you are yet young, you will need something onto which you may focus your thoughts. So I return Angivre to you, as I return your breath. Step close to me.”</p><p></p><p>When I do so, she pulls me to her face, the eyes now alive. “When I watch one of mine, I desire to be pleased. I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona.” She places her mouth over mine and breathes such heat into me . . . . oh gods!!</p><p></p><p>I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona.</p><p></p><p>I awoke on the far shore, the Empty Bow next to me. My mouth still hot, I held its curve to me. Eventually I stood, sighted the far shore, murmured Sehanangi, and drew back the Silver which rang under my fingertips. A caress as much as a shot, I sent the white dart high, high into the sky, up and up to the moon herself.</p><p></p><p>In the forest behind me I heard the Lady laugh. And this time it was not with mockery or derision, but with pleasure . . . .</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Alexander Bryant, post: 7120211, member: 6884000"] [b]The Journal of Etona: Her History[/b] [B]The Journal of Etona: History[/B] My mother perished in birthing me, as many had expected. She had been ill for several arcs, and the only surprising thing about her death was that I was born whole, if tiny: a small baby destined to be a weak child. These are truths, and not points along a constellation of woe. I was then and am now a happy soul, but being frail and diminutive among a sleek, strong people presented obstacles to me and my father. I could not keep up with friends and cousins. Skava, my father, did not know end to patience where his daughter was concerned, however. And with a loving cousin Verdre and fiercely protective Uncle Skaen, I managed to love life regardless. I was inquisitive and given to exploration, and so as the rest of my kin looked up and out, my gaze remained low as suited my stature. Assembling herbs and salts from soil and water became my passion. I learned to use them to prepare joyful food. With Verdre’s help, I found other uses for plain ingredients in wondrous combinations, and so I began to create elixirs of minor use too. This is all to say that I had no reason to care that I could not draw back a bow, let fly the streaking sliver, be the cause to see it soar. This is my first lie to you, for of course I cared. Our people are devoted to a laughing trickster of a goddess who enforces unexpectedly specific rules about the weapons we bear and the food we eat. But I was ever too small, too frail, and the bow I eventually tamed as a young adult was little more than a training implement for a child. It was an insult to Her Fickle Majesty. Thus, I concentrated in steering my fate towards not tempting fate; to be useful in small ways, as a ‘chef’ (I believe is the human word), an herbalist and mixer of plants, spices, even oils and essences. An unimportant life, a content existence, and one I embraced since I should not have survived at all. My silver-gold hair and silver-green eyes marked me, apparently, in some way that others saw, and so I was treated with patience until I made true friendships. The tribe waited, but I didn’t know for what. And then one day . . . . “You will not need those,” father said as I struggled to don my gloves for another disheartening practice. He took them and tossed them aside. I do not know to this day what the occasion was, why he chose that rainy afternoon to bestow upon me a thing that had been merely history to me. With unaccustomed solemnity, he knelt down in front of me and unwrapped a legend. Angivre. The Empty Bow. Sehanine’s Test. An Aspianne heirloom given – so the histories read – to my mother’s mother, Fiora Aspianne, from the goddess herself. A gift, a challenge, to an elven people settling around Emersanine, Her mirror in the midst of that gorgeous forest we are so recently transplanted to. I could fill a tome with its stories of triumph and disappointment, and how it rose up my family and brought it low again. “Fail until you succeed,” my father uttered in presenting it to me. With characteristic affection, he brushed the hair out of my eyes, held my forehead to his lips a moment, and then left me with that towering silver weapon, it and I alone on the shore. The Empty Bow is called that because it has no notches for a cord. It has no cord. And it fires no arrows. A lifetime of struggling to shoot half as well as a one-legged hiccupping goblin to prepare me for a bow with no string. My mother’s mother was the last person to be able to bring the Silver. She would smile in a way generally unknown to our people, it was said, and betwixt her fingers spun out a shimmering line of argent from coalescing shards of radiance. As she drew it back, one of the shards flared to white, becoming the arrow, a flaring bolt that left the bow with a sound like musically-tuned metals scraping against one another. She needed no muscle for this act of tranquil grace, only love of the arrow’s flight. None since her have ever drawn back the Silver, and it has been the Empty Bow for almost three centuries now. For many seasons I could not find the cord. The Silver did not come. I sat at the shore under Sehanine’s white gaze and heard Her mocking amongst the sounds of the woods. In Angivre, She tested neither my skill nor my remembering of lessons, but my heart. And so season after season I studied the Silver. Season after season I carried her and spoke to her and slept with the utterly silent thing. One evening I drowned, almost. Nearly ended, but it was the second start in my life. I was never a strong swimmer, another frailty, but I was competent. And I craved plunging into the frigid water, despite my difficulties. One evening, several of us were diving under Sehanine’s crescent, our first opportunity since new moon to frolic there at night. I had Angivre. Yes, I would even swim with her – my father said water would not harm her. Angivre became ensnared in something. I worked to free her – though at that time I thought of her as it – but whatever tugged at her pulled us both down deeper and deeper. I could not let her slip away. I would rather die than return to my father without her, and so I plunged on to depths I had never descended to. Marvels passed me by, likely my breath giving way and my dying body conjuring phantoms. They were going to be the last things I ever saw before waking in the Court of the Queen to await the judgment of her mood that morning. I landed among illuminated statues encrusted with plankton and sponges. Only a little surprisingly, one of them tilted its head and regarded me. “What is your name, little rag doll?” it said without moving its lips or blowing bubbles of air or anything else to indicate any of this was really happening. I could not reply, of course. “Yes, of course you can,” said another, also inclining its head to me. “Very well. I am Etona Aspianne.” I did not say the words so much as mouth them. “Oh, did you hear that?” Still another statue. “Etona Aspianne.” “So proud of her line of rag dolls before her.” “She is accidentally born of this or that blood and –” “– thinks it something. Yes.” The original statue again. “Why are you down here, Etona?” “Angivre led me here.” “To drown for a piece of wood?” “To drown for its history!” I replied. “Not for a piece of wood.” Though I now saw my folly. My death in rescuing a bow, however famous, would slay my father. What had I been thinking? A statue from the back. “She is a child. And she followed her heart. I forgive!” Others chimed in, some with support, some with jeers for my foolishness, jeers for my bow skills, even for my size. They were all different likenesses of Sehanine, I noticed. All fell quiet when the original statue spoke again. “Etona, you do not get to die today in trying to save a thing. Sehanine’s Test is not to possess or master the pretty white bow; it is something else entirely, something you will endeavor to discover when I return you to your little tribe. But as you are yet young, you will need something onto which you may focus your thoughts. So I return Angivre to you, as I return your breath. Step close to me.” When I do so, she pulls me to her face, the eyes now alive. “When I watch one of mine, I desire to be pleased. I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona.” She places her mouth over mine and breathes such heat into me . . . . oh gods!! I am your Angivre. And you are my Etona. I awoke on the far shore, the Empty Bow next to me. My mouth still hot, I held its curve to me. Eventually I stood, sighted the far shore, murmured Sehanangi, and drew back the Silver which rang under my fingertips. A caress as much as a shot, I sent the white dart high, high into the sky, up and up to the moon herself. In the forest behind me I heard the Lady laugh. And this time it was not with mockery or derision, but with pleasure . . . . [/QUOTE]
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