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Skycleft: Tales from the Mad Bard [updated 11/04/04]
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<blockquote data-quote="threshel" data-source="post: 1824030" data-attributes="member: 5164"><p style="text-align: center">Introduction Part Five</p><p></p><p>It was all of Hurgen’s unexpressed fears of the forest made real. Striking like a thousand vipers, the branches of the trees quickly obscured his vision. Rustling became a roar, creaking became a screech, and through it all, the saddening song beat like a pulse. Crying out and flailing desperately, his old frame screaming nearly as loud as the wood, he found no escape. Leaves like fingers grasped his clothing as the rough bark limbs twined their way around his arms and legs. Within heartbeats, Hurgen was held fast - as fast as if he had stood in the wood for all of its tens of tenwinters, twisting new limbs around himself until they grew stout as he grew gray. The old carpenter relaxed as age and the futility of his actions took their toll. The wood seemed content to merely hold him, and quieted into resilient stillness as Hurgen calmed.</p><p></p><p>His sons were a different matter. They didn’t have age to tire them or teach them futility, and now Hurgen could hear their struggles, and found that he could turn his head. Left first, to where Ilan’s over-sharpened hatchet struck green wood again and again, punctuated by the boy’s sharp cries. He was free for the moment, but Hurgen knew the axe would dull quickly. The look on Ilan’s face said he knew it, too. At every opportunity, he inched his way closer to his father. To Hurgen’s right, Tojon grunted as hands that bent iron to his will splintered the boughs that sought to bind him. His eyes focused on the prostrate and endlessly atoning Brenjar, the eldest of Hurgen’s boys forced his way inexorably forward.</p><p></p><p>“Papa.” Ilan was next to him now, all hard breath and corded muscle. He jerked as he moved, like a marionette fighting the puppeteer. “I see more smoke. I think the stumps have caught the tangle ablaze.” Hurgen strained as he turned his head to see behind him. There were fresh curls of smoke threading through the living net that held him. Ilan was hacking at the branches set around his father, but for every one he let loose, one would wind around the young carpenter. Hurgen sought his son’s eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Ilan, no.” Hurgen knew Ilan couldn’t free them both.</p><p></p><p>“I won’t watch you die! Cut wood, carpenter, or we both burn!” Ilan was adamant. His eyes told it: save each other, or they wouldn’t survive. Hurgen cursed and found strength to aid his son. They attacked the boughs in earnest. In their cracking, splintering and sweating bid for freedom, they could hear another sound as well: the staccato pops of green wood burning. Ilan’s axe bit shallow now, no more useful than a hammer. For every branch broken, two took its place. They could feel the heat building. Soon, it would consume the tangle in a gluttonous feast of flame.</p><p></p><p>“No, no, no, no!” Ilan’s cries were unending. They hadn’t moved but a few paces, and had many to go. Hurgen’s arms were made of lead, and his lungs felt hot enough to melt them. The heat at his back told him he was right, he wouldn’t make it, and Ilan’s stubbornness tied their fates together as tightly as the binding wood. Hurgen looked up, up to scream at Brenjar again, to break his voice against the ranger’s madness. Instead his voice caught and stalled, issuing only as a strangled gasp.</p><p></p><p>Tojon had made it out.</p><p></p><p>He was looming over the guide, waiting. Dripping with sweat, he stood with his left hand slightly raised. His eyes didn’t look back, even though he could hear his brother’s loud denunciations. He had been paying attention, and the ritual was always the same. The chanting first, then the left hand comes up and turns to receive the blade…there! He grasped Brenjar’s mangled left hand in his own, in the same manner as men shake hands, and squeezed with all the might of his iron-bending grip. Brenjar shrieked in pain, the knife tumbling from his right hand. It came up to futilely pry at Tojon’s fingers. Tojon bent into his grip, and put his mouth next to the ranger’s ear.</p><p></p><p>“Free them! Free them or I’ll ruin it!” Writhing now, Brenjar was twisting in effort to ease his pain.</p><p></p><p>“No…thefaultismine…” He began, but ended in screams as bones popped under his mutilated flesh. </p><p></p><p>“Free them!” Tojon yelled into the ranger’s ear, then relaxed his grip only slightly.</p><p></p><p>Brenjar uttered a phrase in strange tongue through clenched teeth, and the branches fled like serpents through grass. From magic come to magic gone, the fuel of the fire was as nothing. So like it the fire returned to nothing, and once again they were left among thin woods and columns of stump-smoke. Ilan and Hurgen stood wide-eyed, clutching each other, but nothing clutching them. Ilan gulped visibly in relief as Hurgen nodded his thanks to his eldest.</p><p></p><p>“Tojon?” Brenjar still spoke through clenched teeth as he stood. He was clear-eyed, and his face no longer held manic lines. He had also picked up his knife. “Are you going to let go now, or do I have to cut off your hand?”</p><p></p><p>Tojon had seen Brenjar wield that knife before. As long as a dagger and wide as a sword, its expertly maintained edge clove flesh and bone as easy as Tojon broke branches. Still, he and Brenjar stood like that for a moment – nose to nose while blood ran between Tojon’s fingers and dripped to the ground in time to the saddening song. Tojon was looking for something in the ranger’s eyes. Something that would tell him that this man, this guide upon whom their trust lay and venture hung, was not the cause of the fell music. All Tojon could think of was Hili. If this man had betrayed them…<em>her</em>, Tojon would see him lose more than his hand.</p><p></p><p>“If that knife moves, we both leave righted.” Tojon replied, steeling himself for the lightning flash of the knife to his arm. He tightened his grip only slightly, fully ready to close his left hand into a full fist. Brenjar groaned faintly and his knees trembled, but the knife remained still. Tojon continued. “What were you doing?”</p><p></p><p>“A ritual of atonement.” Brenjar’s eyes flicked briefly then returned to Tojon’s searching gaze. “Let go.”</p><p></p><p>“Atonement for what?”</p><p></p><p>Flick. “An old mistake.”</p><p></p><p><em>Men will search for lies,</em> Tojon heard his master’s voice, in a lesson on culling dishonest men from his business dealings, <em>but they only need a glimpse of memory.</em></p><p></p><p>Tojon glanced to his father, and Hurgen nodded his support. Gingerly, Tojon released Brenjar’s mangled hand from his grip. The guide sheathed his big knife, crossing its twin on the back of his belt. Putting two fingers of his right into his mouth, he gave a piercing whistle and leaned into the strength of a nearby tree trunk. A dapple-gray mare emerged from the woods and whickering softly, walked to the ranger. </p><p></p><p>“Ynna.” Brenjar spoke her name softly and gave her neck a stroke as he turned her to get to his bags. Hurgen and his boys watched patiently as the ranger applied salve to his cut palm. They winced to a man as the ranger set his broken bones with audible pops. Throughout it all Brenjar fought to maintain a stoic expression, his face pale from pain and loss of blood. Once he had applied a tight wrap, he took a pull from the skin hanging from the saddle horn, and looked to Hurgen.</p><p></p><p>“So. Since you’re all the way up, I take it this…” His face twisted in distain. “<em>fey</em> music has affected the whole line?”</p><p></p><p>“So it has, Brenjar,” Hurgen was using the maul as a cane now, gripping the head in a callused, spotted hand. His body was a lake of dull pain. He and Ilan had remained holding on to each other, and now he lifted his arm to lay some of his weight on his third son’s broad shoulders. “We must find its source.”</p><p></p><p>The ranger nodded, his thoughtful expression now at odds with his still wildly mangled hair. “And it won’t be so near, I think.” He led Ynna over to Hurgen. “You should ride.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="threshel, post: 1824030, member: 5164"] [CENTER]Introduction Part Five[/CENTER] It was all of Hurgen’s unexpressed fears of the forest made real. Striking like a thousand vipers, the branches of the trees quickly obscured his vision. Rustling became a roar, creaking became a screech, and through it all, the saddening song beat like a pulse. Crying out and flailing desperately, his old frame screaming nearly as loud as the wood, he found no escape. Leaves like fingers grasped his clothing as the rough bark limbs twined their way around his arms and legs. Within heartbeats, Hurgen was held fast - as fast as if he had stood in the wood for all of its tens of tenwinters, twisting new limbs around himself until they grew stout as he grew gray. The old carpenter relaxed as age and the futility of his actions took their toll. The wood seemed content to merely hold him, and quieted into resilient stillness as Hurgen calmed. His sons were a different matter. They didn’t have age to tire them or teach them futility, and now Hurgen could hear their struggles, and found that he could turn his head. Left first, to where Ilan’s over-sharpened hatchet struck green wood again and again, punctuated by the boy’s sharp cries. He was free for the moment, but Hurgen knew the axe would dull quickly. The look on Ilan’s face said he knew it, too. At every opportunity, he inched his way closer to his father. To Hurgen’s right, Tojon grunted as hands that bent iron to his will splintered the boughs that sought to bind him. His eyes focused on the prostrate and endlessly atoning Brenjar, the eldest of Hurgen’s boys forced his way inexorably forward. “Papa.” Ilan was next to him now, all hard breath and corded muscle. He jerked as he moved, like a marionette fighting the puppeteer. “I see more smoke. I think the stumps have caught the tangle ablaze.” Hurgen strained as he turned his head to see behind him. There were fresh curls of smoke threading through the living net that held him. Ilan was hacking at the branches set around his father, but for every one he let loose, one would wind around the young carpenter. Hurgen sought his son’s eyes. “Ilan, no.” Hurgen knew Ilan couldn’t free them both. “I won’t watch you die! Cut wood, carpenter, or we both burn!” Ilan was adamant. His eyes told it: save each other, or they wouldn’t survive. Hurgen cursed and found strength to aid his son. They attacked the boughs in earnest. In their cracking, splintering and sweating bid for freedom, they could hear another sound as well: the staccato pops of green wood burning. Ilan’s axe bit shallow now, no more useful than a hammer. For every branch broken, two took its place. They could feel the heat building. Soon, it would consume the tangle in a gluttonous feast of flame. “No, no, no, no!” Ilan’s cries were unending. They hadn’t moved but a few paces, and had many to go. Hurgen’s arms were made of lead, and his lungs felt hot enough to melt them. The heat at his back told him he was right, he wouldn’t make it, and Ilan’s stubbornness tied their fates together as tightly as the binding wood. Hurgen looked up, up to scream at Brenjar again, to break his voice against the ranger’s madness. Instead his voice caught and stalled, issuing only as a strangled gasp. Tojon had made it out. He was looming over the guide, waiting. Dripping with sweat, he stood with his left hand slightly raised. His eyes didn’t look back, even though he could hear his brother’s loud denunciations. He had been paying attention, and the ritual was always the same. The chanting first, then the left hand comes up and turns to receive the blade…there! He grasped Brenjar’s mangled left hand in his own, in the same manner as men shake hands, and squeezed with all the might of his iron-bending grip. Brenjar shrieked in pain, the knife tumbling from his right hand. It came up to futilely pry at Tojon’s fingers. Tojon bent into his grip, and put his mouth next to the ranger’s ear. “Free them! Free them or I’ll ruin it!” Writhing now, Brenjar was twisting in effort to ease his pain. “No…thefaultismine…” He began, but ended in screams as bones popped under his mutilated flesh. “Free them!” Tojon yelled into the ranger’s ear, then relaxed his grip only slightly. Brenjar uttered a phrase in strange tongue through clenched teeth, and the branches fled like serpents through grass. From magic come to magic gone, the fuel of the fire was as nothing. So like it the fire returned to nothing, and once again they were left among thin woods and columns of stump-smoke. Ilan and Hurgen stood wide-eyed, clutching each other, but nothing clutching them. Ilan gulped visibly in relief as Hurgen nodded his thanks to his eldest. “Tojon?” Brenjar still spoke through clenched teeth as he stood. He was clear-eyed, and his face no longer held manic lines. He had also picked up his knife. “Are you going to let go now, or do I have to cut off your hand?” Tojon had seen Brenjar wield that knife before. As long as a dagger and wide as a sword, its expertly maintained edge clove flesh and bone as easy as Tojon broke branches. Still, he and Brenjar stood like that for a moment – nose to nose while blood ran between Tojon’s fingers and dripped to the ground in time to the saddening song. Tojon was looking for something in the ranger’s eyes. Something that would tell him that this man, this guide upon whom their trust lay and venture hung, was not the cause of the fell music. All Tojon could think of was Hili. If this man had betrayed them…[i]her[/i], Tojon would see him lose more than his hand. “If that knife moves, we both leave righted.” Tojon replied, steeling himself for the lightning flash of the knife to his arm. He tightened his grip only slightly, fully ready to close his left hand into a full fist. Brenjar groaned faintly and his knees trembled, but the knife remained still. Tojon continued. “What were you doing?” “A ritual of atonement.” Brenjar’s eyes flicked briefly then returned to Tojon’s searching gaze. “Let go.” “Atonement for what?” Flick. “An old mistake.” [i]Men will search for lies,[/i] Tojon heard his master’s voice, in a lesson on culling dishonest men from his business dealings, [i]but they only need a glimpse of memory.[/i] Tojon glanced to his father, and Hurgen nodded his support. Gingerly, Tojon released Brenjar’s mangled hand from his grip. The guide sheathed his big knife, crossing its twin on the back of his belt. Putting two fingers of his right into his mouth, he gave a piercing whistle and leaned into the strength of a nearby tree trunk. A dapple-gray mare emerged from the woods and whickering softly, walked to the ranger. “Ynna.” Brenjar spoke her name softly and gave her neck a stroke as he turned her to get to his bags. Hurgen and his boys watched patiently as the ranger applied salve to his cut palm. They winced to a man as the ranger set his broken bones with audible pops. Throughout it all Brenjar fought to maintain a stoic expression, his face pale from pain and loss of blood. Once he had applied a tight wrap, he took a pull from the skin hanging from the saddle horn, and looked to Hurgen. “So. Since you’re all the way up, I take it this…” His face twisted in distain. “[i]fey[/i] music has affected the whole line?” “So it has, Brenjar,” Hurgen was using the maul as a cane now, gripping the head in a callused, spotted hand. His body was a lake of dull pain. He and Ilan had remained holding on to each other, and now he lifted his arm to lay some of his weight on his third son’s broad shoulders. “We must find its source.” The ranger nodded, his thoughtful expression now at odds with his still wildly mangled hair. “And it won’t be so near, I think.” He led Ynna over to Hurgen. “You should ride.” [/QUOTE]
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