The Elfblood Wanderers--New Story Hour!!
Bob Aberton
First Post
DISCLAIMER:
This is not a *BUMP*
This is an update.
So rest easy, Horacio
Early the next morning, the clamor of the common room during breakfast time was silenced when a full contingent of Soldiers of the Watch, Lord Meiron's own trusted bodyguard, marched in, armor polished and weapons gleaming. More than one shady or disreputable person drew an anxious breath, fearing the grim-faced soldiers had learned of their own dark deeds, and that they were bound for the gallows. More than one bold, drunken ruffian reached for a hidden blade, thinking a fight was nigh. More than one honest man in the early morning crowd breathed easier, now that The Law was here to protect them from the rogues and knaves readily apparent.
But the men-at-arms strode right through the tense atmosphere of the common room and up to the bar.
"Wench!" the head man-at-arms called rudely, rapping the end of his spear against the tavern floor.
"Here, now! I'm no wench," the barkeep said, drawing herself up indignantly. "I'm good an' honest woman, an' the owner of this fine inn to boot! You would do well to be a little more polite, you would."
"Do not be impudent with me, woman," the soldier warned. "I am Ellis Millworth, an Officer of the Watch, and I can have that saucy tongue cut from your mouth like that!" He rapped his spear haft against the floor again.
The barkeep was not intimidated.
"I don't care what you are, y'can't go threatening an honest woman. I've done no wrong, an' every man in this common room'll stand with me," she said stoutly.
The tension in the air increased a hundredfold. Neither the barkeep nor the man-at-arms would back down. Many a piece of tavern scum clenched his ale-mug a little tighter, or reached for a blade or cudgel. It appeared that there would be blood shed soon if the tension was not broken.
The tension was broken by a woman descending the stairs. Not just any woman, though. She was tall and graceful, descending the stairs with an ethereal grace. She wore a long black robe studded with gold stars and crescent moons. Her auburn hair, contrasting with the black of her garments like a long river of flame, was swept back to show pointed ears. Her eyes were those of a Fey: ever-changing, measureless, and knowing. In the cupped palm of one hand she held a luminous crystal ball. And around her neck hung a live Coal on a golden string. Flanking her were two tall men in green robes, one tall and slender, the other tall and burly. The sleeves of their robes were rolled up to the elbow, showing clearly the blue serpent tattoos that coiled up their forearms.
"I am Sindell the Portent, a Seeress of great power. I believe you are looking for me?" she said, in calm, measured tones.
"Yes," the officer said shortly.
"Yes...what?" Nystyra/Sindell asked archly. She cupped one hand around the live Coal at her throat and muttered a word under her breath.
Suddenly, in the previously still air of the common room, the air began to stir. Candles flickered and dust motes spun dizzily. The common room fell more silent, if it was possible, than it had when the soldiers had first walked in. There was then a steady breeze in the room, still building stronger. Nystyra's hair and flowing robes swirled about her, and her eyes flashed commandingly. She drew herself up and looked threateningly at the poor Officer, who was by then quaking in his boots.
"Yes...m'lady," he quavered. The powerful looking Witch before him calmed visibly, and the breeze died. The air returned to its previous stillness, and the common room resumed its previous chatter.
In a dark corner of the common room, a tall, red-haired man watched the scene with interest, fingering a wicked-looking dagger. When the Witch was escorted out of the inn, he waited until a prudent length of time had passed, then got up and followed.
If Nystyra had been confident after her encounter with the officer in the inn, her confidence dissipated soon after she was taken to see Lord Meiron.
He did not look imposing at all. A short, thin man, whose appearance conjured up images of weasels and rats and other crawling vermin, he was dressed foppishly, almost effeminately.
His long wine colored overcoat hung down so far that it might have been considered a dress. It was trimmed with ermine and black lace. His hose was also made of black lace, and hugged his legs scandalously tightly. His breeches were so short as to be almost invisible. He wore a huge, curling, pink-tinted wig, and far too much makeup. His face was powdered and his lips rouged, like a woman's. He had an enormous false beauty-spot glued to his cheek. He was enveloped in a miasma of perfume. He spoke with an effeminate lisp, and his voice was barely low enough to be considered an alto.
One wouldn't think, from looking at him, that this perfumed, feminine personage could possibly concieve to be threatenening. Somehow, however, he managed it.
"You are the Witch, Sindell the Portent?" he asked, looking up from his desk. "You should know that many other, ah, 'Witches' have passed through here. They have all been charlatans, and end up on the gallows - or the rack. I do so hope that you are a genuine Witch, Witch. The gallows and rack are both...hmm...wearing out from overuse."
Nystyra decided to try to bluff. Clutching her Coal, she invoked a minor prestidigitation, a category of spells used for countless small tricks and tasks. Just as back in the inn, the air began to swirl. She drew herself up commandingly, calling on her Fey blood to show its power.
Lord Meiron merely laughed.
"When you are done with the child's tricks, 'Witch,' perhaps we may, ah, return to more serious business, hmm?" he said, sniffing delicately into a huge silk handkerchief.
Nystyra merely sat their for a second, trying to compose herself. She considered herself a fairly accomplished liar, having for years lied to Adrin about why she had not done this little task, or that bit of research, or why exactly was she robbing the pantry at midnight? Adrin had not often seen through her lies, and Nystyra gave her Fey blood some credit for that. Lord Meiron was going to be very dangerous indeed.
****************************************************
The update was going to be longer, but my storyhour was slipping, and I can't bump my own storyhour
Anyway, enjoy...
This is not a *BUMP*
This is an update.
So rest easy, Horacio
Early the next morning, the clamor of the common room during breakfast time was silenced when a full contingent of Soldiers of the Watch, Lord Meiron's own trusted bodyguard, marched in, armor polished and weapons gleaming. More than one shady or disreputable person drew an anxious breath, fearing the grim-faced soldiers had learned of their own dark deeds, and that they were bound for the gallows. More than one bold, drunken ruffian reached for a hidden blade, thinking a fight was nigh. More than one honest man in the early morning crowd breathed easier, now that The Law was here to protect them from the rogues and knaves readily apparent.
But the men-at-arms strode right through the tense atmosphere of the common room and up to the bar.
"Wench!" the head man-at-arms called rudely, rapping the end of his spear against the tavern floor.
"Here, now! I'm no wench," the barkeep said, drawing herself up indignantly. "I'm good an' honest woman, an' the owner of this fine inn to boot! You would do well to be a little more polite, you would."
"Do not be impudent with me, woman," the soldier warned. "I am Ellis Millworth, an Officer of the Watch, and I can have that saucy tongue cut from your mouth like that!" He rapped his spear haft against the floor again.
The barkeep was not intimidated.
"I don't care what you are, y'can't go threatening an honest woman. I've done no wrong, an' every man in this common room'll stand with me," she said stoutly.
The tension in the air increased a hundredfold. Neither the barkeep nor the man-at-arms would back down. Many a piece of tavern scum clenched his ale-mug a little tighter, or reached for a blade or cudgel. It appeared that there would be blood shed soon if the tension was not broken.
The tension was broken by a woman descending the stairs. Not just any woman, though. She was tall and graceful, descending the stairs with an ethereal grace. She wore a long black robe studded with gold stars and crescent moons. Her auburn hair, contrasting with the black of her garments like a long river of flame, was swept back to show pointed ears. Her eyes were those of a Fey: ever-changing, measureless, and knowing. In the cupped palm of one hand she held a luminous crystal ball. And around her neck hung a live Coal on a golden string. Flanking her were two tall men in green robes, one tall and slender, the other tall and burly. The sleeves of their robes were rolled up to the elbow, showing clearly the blue serpent tattoos that coiled up their forearms.
"I am Sindell the Portent, a Seeress of great power. I believe you are looking for me?" she said, in calm, measured tones.
"Yes," the officer said shortly.
"Yes...what?" Nystyra/Sindell asked archly. She cupped one hand around the live Coal at her throat and muttered a word under her breath.
Suddenly, in the previously still air of the common room, the air began to stir. Candles flickered and dust motes spun dizzily. The common room fell more silent, if it was possible, than it had when the soldiers had first walked in. There was then a steady breeze in the room, still building stronger. Nystyra's hair and flowing robes swirled about her, and her eyes flashed commandingly. She drew herself up and looked threateningly at the poor Officer, who was by then quaking in his boots.
"Yes...m'lady," he quavered. The powerful looking Witch before him calmed visibly, and the breeze died. The air returned to its previous stillness, and the common room resumed its previous chatter.
In a dark corner of the common room, a tall, red-haired man watched the scene with interest, fingering a wicked-looking dagger. When the Witch was escorted out of the inn, he waited until a prudent length of time had passed, then got up and followed.
If Nystyra had been confident after her encounter with the officer in the inn, her confidence dissipated soon after she was taken to see Lord Meiron.
He did not look imposing at all. A short, thin man, whose appearance conjured up images of weasels and rats and other crawling vermin, he was dressed foppishly, almost effeminately.
His long wine colored overcoat hung down so far that it might have been considered a dress. It was trimmed with ermine and black lace. His hose was also made of black lace, and hugged his legs scandalously tightly. His breeches were so short as to be almost invisible. He wore a huge, curling, pink-tinted wig, and far too much makeup. His face was powdered and his lips rouged, like a woman's. He had an enormous false beauty-spot glued to his cheek. He was enveloped in a miasma of perfume. He spoke with an effeminate lisp, and his voice was barely low enough to be considered an alto.
One wouldn't think, from looking at him, that this perfumed, feminine personage could possibly concieve to be threatenening. Somehow, however, he managed it.
"You are the Witch, Sindell the Portent?" he asked, looking up from his desk. "You should know that many other, ah, 'Witches' have passed through here. They have all been charlatans, and end up on the gallows - or the rack. I do so hope that you are a genuine Witch, Witch. The gallows and rack are both...hmm...wearing out from overuse."
Nystyra decided to try to bluff. Clutching her Coal, she invoked a minor prestidigitation, a category of spells used for countless small tricks and tasks. Just as back in the inn, the air began to swirl. She drew herself up commandingly, calling on her Fey blood to show its power.
Lord Meiron merely laughed.
"When you are done with the child's tricks, 'Witch,' perhaps we may, ah, return to more serious business, hmm?" he said, sniffing delicately into a huge silk handkerchief.
Nystyra merely sat their for a second, trying to compose herself. She considered herself a fairly accomplished liar, having for years lied to Adrin about why she had not done this little task, or that bit of research, or why exactly was she robbing the pantry at midnight? Adrin had not often seen through her lies, and Nystyra gave her Fey blood some credit for that. Lord Meiron was going to be very dangerous indeed.
****************************************************
The update was going to be longer, but my storyhour was slipping, and I can't bump my own storyhour
Anyway, enjoy...
Wow, this is some good stuff.
One of the players in my story hour pointed me in this direction, and I finally got a chance to catch up with it.
Good writing, interesting characters, great background - good stuff all around.
Keep up the good work!
PS: I'm hoping to send you some more traffic from the Small Beginnings story hour readership too, more people should be reading this!
One of the players in my story hour pointed me in this direction, and I finally got a chance to catch up with it.
Good writing, interesting characters, great background - good stuff all around.
Keep up the good work!
PS: I'm hoping to send you some more traffic from the Small Beginnings story hour readership too, more people should be reading this!
Bob Aberton
First Post
Thanks, Enkhidu, glad you like it..
I like to know that I have a fanbase somewhere out there
Or at least some casual readers...
I'm glad that you're helping promote my storyhour. I believe I'l return the favor.
NOTE TO READERS: Read Enkhidu's storyhour. It rocks.
Bob Aberton
First Post
"Before you do your bit of, ah, fortune-telling, Witch," Lord Meiron said, patting his wig (which raised a huge dust cloud of pink powder). "I find it...hmm...only fair to tell you that I will not, sadly, entrust you with any secrets of state, if that was your...ah...aim?"
Secrets of state, Nystyra thought, echoing the 'man's' word in her mind. Not only was this person a foppish creature with a fondness for perfume and cosmetics, but he was also apparently, a bit of a meglomaniac who like to think of his little fief as a 'state.'
"It was not my aim, Lord Meiron," 'Sindell' said, seemingly affronted. "I am Sindell the Portent, who sees past, present, and future. I hold more power than you will ever dream of. Tell me, why would I concern myself with petty temporal affairs. I tell you, such matters are fleeting, and even as we speak the present becomes past and the past becomes forgotten. Your secrets are safer with me than even with yourself, for I have no interest in them. They are below me."
Lord Meiron digested this for a minute, then reached into a drawer of his desk. He drew out another handkerchief, this one of a delicate-hued rosy color. He threw his present handkerchief into the fire with an expression of deep distaste, and coughed into this new handkerchief. He took a sip of wine from a tiny crystal glass, then regarded 'Sindell' again.
"Very well then, Wi - ah, Lady Sindell, tell me of my...hah...my fortunes," he said, sniffing at his glass of wine.
Nystyra knew this part of the deception by heart, having practiced it for half a night in her room at the Sign of the Leaky Keg. Grasping her Coal, she envisioned a minor prestidigitationtaking place. A gust of cold wind swirled around her, setting her black silk robes into motion and blowing her hair about her head in a halo of auburn. Then, she began to chant the words to a slightly more powerful illusion. Suddenly, flames sprugn up around her, encircling her and the table. Lord Meiron threw himself backwards with a high, feminine scream, landing in a tangle of silk handkerchiefs, long waistcoat, and curly pink wig.
The third spell that Nystyra cast was an auditory version of the illusory flames now dancing merrily around on her head. Her voice suddenly echoed unnaturally, even gratingly, deep. Her real voice, however, continued in its ordinary alto, giving an eery impression of two voices speaking through the same mouth.
"O Happy are you, Lord Meiron! For puppets may fight and puppets may die, but the puppet-master is the one that truly wins the day. Be not as a puppet, dumb and deaf and slavish, bound all about with cords. Be as the puppet-master, who holds all strings and is bound by nought, who hears all and says what he pleases. It is the one who holds the cord, the chains, that is successful, and not the one bound by them. Be wary! Your enemies seek to bind you! Bind them instead! Leash them like dogs! The collar irks always those who knew freedom before. You know of whom I speak. You have few friends. Do not alienate a powerful potential ally! The Rowan stands with the Oak, and in them you should trust. For trees have neither ears to hear secrets, nor mouths to speak them."
With that, Nystyra cancelled the various illusions she had been holding. The wind died, the flames disappeared, and so did the eery second voice.
Lord Meiron picked himself up, dusted himself off, and adjusted his wig, causing another cloud of pink wig-powder to fill the room.
"That was...ah...interesting, Wi - Lady Sindell. Er...you...you may go now..."
Sindell and her two Druid attendants swept out of the room silently, leaving Lord Meiron to ponder the "prophecy." Nystyra was quite pleased with herself. To any skeptic, what she said in her 'trance' may have seemed like mindless doggerel, but everything she said, she said for a reason. Now she only hoped Lord Meiron took the meaning she had meant him to from her cryptic words.
Back at the Leaky Keg, Damara was nowhere to be seen. Diesa was in a corner, sipping some sort of drink, but Nystyra decided to preserve her mysterious disguise and speak to no one. She merely strode through the common room without a word, wrinkling her nose at the smells of sweat, beer, smoke and vomit that were a revolting change from the stuffy perfumed atmosphere of Lord Meiron's audience room. The Druids went to their own room, and Nystyra entered her own.
She immediately regretted it. Although the room was dark, she could sense that something was not right. She reached up her sleeve for a small knife she had hidden there, which she had intended to use to defend her virtue if any man in the towns of Dwllyn or Urglath made any attempts on it. She could hear her own heart pounding as she walked cautiously into the room.
"Evening, my lady Sindell," a voice said, close by. Nystyra jumped, and spun around, holding her little knife out in front of her. Seated on a stool in the corner of the room, near the dark and empty fireplace, was a tall, red haired man, who was fingering a wicked-looking dagger. "Or should I say, my lady Nystyra? Do you know what happens to spies around here?"
****************************************************
Kinda short, I know, but I wanted to leave a good cliffhanger. Plus, the Storyhour was falling to far off the first page.
I will update again soon, but not until I get at least one comment not of my own posting
Secrets of state, Nystyra thought, echoing the 'man's' word in her mind. Not only was this person a foppish creature with a fondness for perfume and cosmetics, but he was also apparently, a bit of a meglomaniac who like to think of his little fief as a 'state.'
"It was not my aim, Lord Meiron," 'Sindell' said, seemingly affronted. "I am Sindell the Portent, who sees past, present, and future. I hold more power than you will ever dream of. Tell me, why would I concern myself with petty temporal affairs. I tell you, such matters are fleeting, and even as we speak the present becomes past and the past becomes forgotten. Your secrets are safer with me than even with yourself, for I have no interest in them. They are below me."
Lord Meiron digested this for a minute, then reached into a drawer of his desk. He drew out another handkerchief, this one of a delicate-hued rosy color. He threw his present handkerchief into the fire with an expression of deep distaste, and coughed into this new handkerchief. He took a sip of wine from a tiny crystal glass, then regarded 'Sindell' again.
"Very well then, Wi - ah, Lady Sindell, tell me of my...hah...my fortunes," he said, sniffing at his glass of wine.
Nystyra knew this part of the deception by heart, having practiced it for half a night in her room at the Sign of the Leaky Keg. Grasping her Coal, she envisioned a minor prestidigitationtaking place. A gust of cold wind swirled around her, setting her black silk robes into motion and blowing her hair about her head in a halo of auburn. Then, she began to chant the words to a slightly more powerful illusion. Suddenly, flames sprugn up around her, encircling her and the table. Lord Meiron threw himself backwards with a high, feminine scream, landing in a tangle of silk handkerchiefs, long waistcoat, and curly pink wig.
The third spell that Nystyra cast was an auditory version of the illusory flames now dancing merrily around on her head. Her voice suddenly echoed unnaturally, even gratingly, deep. Her real voice, however, continued in its ordinary alto, giving an eery impression of two voices speaking through the same mouth.
"O Happy are you, Lord Meiron! For puppets may fight and puppets may die, but the puppet-master is the one that truly wins the day. Be not as a puppet, dumb and deaf and slavish, bound all about with cords. Be as the puppet-master, who holds all strings and is bound by nought, who hears all and says what he pleases. It is the one who holds the cord, the chains, that is successful, and not the one bound by them. Be wary! Your enemies seek to bind you! Bind them instead! Leash them like dogs! The collar irks always those who knew freedom before. You know of whom I speak. You have few friends. Do not alienate a powerful potential ally! The Rowan stands with the Oak, and in them you should trust. For trees have neither ears to hear secrets, nor mouths to speak them."
With that, Nystyra cancelled the various illusions she had been holding. The wind died, the flames disappeared, and so did the eery second voice.
Lord Meiron picked himself up, dusted himself off, and adjusted his wig, causing another cloud of pink wig-powder to fill the room.
"That was...ah...interesting, Wi - Lady Sindell. Er...you...you may go now..."
Sindell and her two Druid attendants swept out of the room silently, leaving Lord Meiron to ponder the "prophecy." Nystyra was quite pleased with herself. To any skeptic, what she said in her 'trance' may have seemed like mindless doggerel, but everything she said, she said for a reason. Now she only hoped Lord Meiron took the meaning she had meant him to from her cryptic words.
Back at the Leaky Keg, Damara was nowhere to be seen. Diesa was in a corner, sipping some sort of drink, but Nystyra decided to preserve her mysterious disguise and speak to no one. She merely strode through the common room without a word, wrinkling her nose at the smells of sweat, beer, smoke and vomit that were a revolting change from the stuffy perfumed atmosphere of Lord Meiron's audience room. The Druids went to their own room, and Nystyra entered her own.
She immediately regretted it. Although the room was dark, she could sense that something was not right. She reached up her sleeve for a small knife she had hidden there, which she had intended to use to defend her virtue if any man in the towns of Dwllyn or Urglath made any attempts on it. She could hear her own heart pounding as she walked cautiously into the room.
"Evening, my lady Sindell," a voice said, close by. Nystyra jumped, and spun around, holding her little knife out in front of her. Seated on a stool in the corner of the room, near the dark and empty fireplace, was a tall, red haired man, who was fingering a wicked-looking dagger. "Or should I say, my lady Nystyra? Do you know what happens to spies around here?"
****************************************************
Kinda short, I know, but I wanted to leave a good cliffhanger. Plus, the Storyhour was falling to far off the first page.
I will update again soon, but not until I get at least one comment not of my own posting
Hey Bob,
Noticed in a different thread that you needed to figure out how to create a link in a sig.
Well, here's a link...
ElfBlood Wanderers
Now all you have to do is Quote this post, and then Copy and Paste the code for the link (it's the stuff in brackets). Presto, chago - you've got the UBB code for you sig.
Don't say I never gave you anything!
Noticed in a different thread that you needed to figure out how to create a link in a sig.
Well, here's a link...
ElfBlood Wanderers
Now all you have to do is Quote this post, and then Copy and Paste the code for the link (it's the stuff in brackets). Presto, chago - you've got the UBB code for you sig.
Don't say I never gave you anything!
Bob Aberton
First Post
Why thanks, Enkhidu.
now if I could figure how to modify my sig...
now if I could figure how to modify my sig...
Bob Aberton
First Post
Thanks...but what do you think of the update?
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