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<blockquote data-quote="PHDungeon" data-source="post: 5119973" data-attributes="member: 86320"><p>This is Deryl's much more esoteric version of the events that took place during session 13.</p><p></p><p>….the room is filled with swirling banks of steam and heavily scented with eucalyptus. Deryl languishes in the freshly drawn and heated bath…</p><p></p><p>“We’ll just wash that hair out, shall we, ma’amselle?” Cheori, one of the housekeeping staff, asks without really waiting for an answer. “Ah, but you’re so tense, you are!! I say again you shouldn’t be out there, its just not right, pardon me for saying so, ma’amselle.”</p><p></p><p>“It’s okay, Cheori, you’re not the first to tell me, but its not so bad… really.”</p><p></p><p>Deryl leans forward and lets Cheori begin shampooing her hair. Her body relaxes under the housekeeper’s ministrations but her mind is elsewhere…reliving the events of the night before. Staring into the bath water is like staring into the mystical depths of a scrying pool…</p><p></p><p>She can see herself running ahead of the contingent of prisoners, wet with rain and sweat, stinking of battle grime. It’s not Derren with her this time, but the ghostly form of the young man from her dreams, he is holding her hand and pacing her easily. He smiles at her, pulling tight the stitches keeping his mouth closed. His form disappears in the flash of a dragon’s wing and suddenly the iron wrymling settles before her. </p><p></p><p>He slashes at her, rending her with his claws…no, not her, but Bella. The image in the bath shifts and she is suddenly reliving the battle in the long house.</p><p></p><p>Bella, wearing her true form and not that of an orc, is cut down by one of the brutes. Even as she falls though she is fitting another bolt into her crossbow, ready to fight even unto death.</p><p></p><p>To her right, Bjorn lays in a pool of his own blood with the Blood Spear Chief menacing above him. His eyes stare lifelessly above him, but he is writing the line ‘Thor will not forsake me’ over and over in the blood, like a child under detention.</p><p></p><p>Four orcs, hands joined, dance around and around. Blood spills from them too and they revel in it. Derren is in the center crying out “Am I not a good enough dancer Brianna?” He is laughing and smiling as if unaware of his many wounds.</p><p></p><p>Torfin’s image enters the far corner of the pool’s image. “Shall we dance” he says and lightening jumps from his one hand to the next. Another four orcs accept his invitation and the five take up a bloody Tarantelle.</p><p></p><p>She sees herself, balanced on the rafter crying out in the arcane tongue. Her hand becomes sheathed in chaotic energy. It burns away the bloody scene below as if it were a storybook illustration…only to replace it with another.</p><p></p><p>Bella is below her now, a trail of orc bodies in her wake, pierced with bolts. Her form shifts settling on the form of Starke before anchoring back to that of an orc.</p><p></p><p>Bjorn lies still in a pool of blood, this time by the door. He raises his hammer to the sky and calls upon Thor. Suddenly he is standing, bathed in light and four orcs lay lifeless in front of him.</p><p></p><p>Derren twirls across the battlefield. “For honor, For Androsax” he cries striking the orc chieftan. The Blood Spear chief is barely moving now, with five of its six strings severed…a marionette only.</p><p></p><p>On the corpses of four bloodied orcs Torfin continues his bloody Tarantelle, but no lightning dances on his fingertips.</p><p></p><p> Deryl sees herself in the rafters, the nameless man is in front of her again, smiling. The stitches are gone this time, “Run,” he says.</p><p></p><p>And she is running, again, leading the prisoners back to Fallcrest…</p><p></p><p>“God’s above, ma’amselle, but how can you be shivering in such a hot both. Lean back now and relax. I’ll fetch some more hot water.” </p><p></p><p>And like that the image in the bath water disappears.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="PHDungeon, post: 5119973, member: 86320"] This is Deryl's much more esoteric version of the events that took place during session 13. ….the room is filled with swirling banks of steam and heavily scented with eucalyptus. Deryl languishes in the freshly drawn and heated bath… “We’ll just wash that hair out, shall we, ma’amselle?” Cheori, one of the housekeeping staff, asks without really waiting for an answer. “Ah, but you’re so tense, you are!! I say again you shouldn’t be out there, its just not right, pardon me for saying so, ma’amselle.” “It’s okay, Cheori, you’re not the first to tell me, but its not so bad… really.” Deryl leans forward and lets Cheori begin shampooing her hair. Her body relaxes under the housekeeper’s ministrations but her mind is elsewhere…reliving the events of the night before. Staring into the bath water is like staring into the mystical depths of a scrying pool… She can see herself running ahead of the contingent of prisoners, wet with rain and sweat, stinking of battle grime. It’s not Derren with her this time, but the ghostly form of the young man from her dreams, he is holding her hand and pacing her easily. He smiles at her, pulling tight the stitches keeping his mouth closed. His form disappears in the flash of a dragon’s wing and suddenly the iron wrymling settles before her. He slashes at her, rending her with his claws…no, not her, but Bella. The image in the bath shifts and she is suddenly reliving the battle in the long house. Bella, wearing her true form and not that of an orc, is cut down by one of the brutes. Even as she falls though she is fitting another bolt into her crossbow, ready to fight even unto death. To her right, Bjorn lays in a pool of his own blood with the Blood Spear Chief menacing above him. His eyes stare lifelessly above him, but he is writing the line ‘Thor will not forsake me’ over and over in the blood, like a child under detention. Four orcs, hands joined, dance around and around. Blood spills from them too and they revel in it. Derren is in the center crying out “Am I not a good enough dancer Brianna?” He is laughing and smiling as if unaware of his many wounds. Torfin’s image enters the far corner of the pool’s image. “Shall we dance” he says and lightening jumps from his one hand to the next. Another four orcs accept his invitation and the five take up a bloody Tarantelle. She sees herself, balanced on the rafter crying out in the arcane tongue. Her hand becomes sheathed in chaotic energy. It burns away the bloody scene below as if it were a storybook illustration…only to replace it with another. Bella is below her now, a trail of orc bodies in her wake, pierced with bolts. Her form shifts settling on the form of Starke before anchoring back to that of an orc. Bjorn lies still in a pool of blood, this time by the door. He raises his hammer to the sky and calls upon Thor. Suddenly he is standing, bathed in light and four orcs lay lifeless in front of him. Derren twirls across the battlefield. “For honor, For Androsax” he cries striking the orc chieftan. The Blood Spear chief is barely moving now, with five of its six strings severed…a marionette only. On the corpses of four bloodied orcs Torfin continues his bloody Tarantelle, but no lightning dances on his fingertips. Deryl sees herself in the rafters, the nameless man is in front of her again, smiling. The stitches are gone this time, “Run,” he says. And she is running, again, leading the prisoners back to Fallcrest… “God’s above, ma’amselle, but how can you be shivering in such a hot both. Lean back now and relax. I’ll fetch some more hot water.” And like that the image in the bath water disappears. [/QUOTE]
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