Jon Potter
First Post
[Realms #405d] Repercussions V
The sound jolted Shamalin awake. It took several seconds to remember where she was; still in New Mellorell, as they had been for several days. Disappointed, she looked across the room to the origin of the sound. All was still now; the embers in the firepit and a feint gray radiance creeping in around the edge of the door provided the only light. But it was enough for her night vision to clearly reveal Ixin sitting upright amidst the drift of furs that formed the sorcerer's sleeping pallet, eyes wide open and staring. Ayremac and Karak were on watch; it was close to sun up. Knowing there was no returning to the refuge of her own dream, Shamalin sighed and propped herself upright. The coarse skins offered little comfort, but she gripped the hide tightly around her nonetheless.
"A dream?" she asked and Ixin regarded her silently, unsure of how to answer. Her eyes glowed in the darkness like tiny golden candles. "You've woken every night now the same way. What is it that haunts you?" Shamalin asked.
"Images... of something," the drakeling spoke, Lord Hofralix's Ring of Word Twisting translating her speech into the Common Tongue. "It's all a blur."
She paused and Shamalin thought perhaps she would not continue.
"I think I was running from someone, or something... in another place," Ixin said after a few moments.
"Before?" Shamalin encouraged her gently, coaxing details from the woman.
"Before," Ixin admitted sullenly, quiet desperation coloring her voice. "But... why don't I remember more of the time before? More of my former life?" Shamalin drew her legs up and hugged her knees, resting her chin there.
"A lot's changed for you, Ixin. You died, for goodness' sake," the cleric said. "You should draw strength from your friends. We're here to help you. Morier and Karak both knew you before, didn't they?" Ixin snorted.
"I feel so mixed about Morier and Karak," she said, stretching her diminutive wings languidly as she ruminated. "On the one hand, they are a comfort to me because they do have some familiarity. On the other hand, the fact that they are not more familiar to me is very discomforting." She shook her head sadly and silence pressed in on the sunken hut for a drawn moment and finally Shamalin prompted with a question.
"What can you remember?" she asked in a soft voice and when Ixin responded, her own voice was barely above a whisper.
"I remember feeling incredibly scared, and now I can't even imagine feeling scared like that." She paused, her face screwing up in consternation. "And there was something else, but I can't put my finger on it. It's as if I used to be connected to other beings and now I am disconnected from everyone. Even myself."
Shamalin considered the words. She had not been very successful at bridging the language barrier that Draconic presented. In fact, she had very nearly given up and the cleric wondered what they would be doing right now had Lord Hofralix not given the sorcerer that orcish ring she now wore. Silently, Shamalin resolved to do better getting to know the new Ixin.
"It must have been awful... " the Florian observed, "being only able to communicate with Huzair." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and from across the room Ixin returned the smile in full.
"Let's just say I sensed I was missing a certain... balanced perspective on our experiences," she laughed, a thin, brittle sound in the dark room. After the chuckle subsided she sighed before continuing. "I wonder, if you don't mind the personal question, do you too find that you have less of an... ability.. to be scared since your experience in the manor?"
Shamalin kept her expression void of emotion at the reference to her experience with Blackheart in Miller's Pond, but an icy chill ran through her just the same as her mind went unbidden back to that cold, tiled room. She rubbed unconsciously at her ankle feeling again the dull bite of the manacle that had held her to the foot of the brass tub in which Padgett had endured so horribly. Without effort she could again hear his cries for aid, pleas for the mercy that Shamalin represented but could not give. She remembered shamefully her own relief when he'd been taken finally away, his plaintive moans muted by the closing door. After a time she answered carefully, "To be scared implies that one cares about the outcome of living or dying. In that sense then perhaps there is less fear now." With an effort, she pulled herself back to the present and looked squarely at Ixin. "But that kind of thinking makes one reckless. And we have landed in a cause that cannot afford the luxury of indifference." Ixin nodded without enthusiasm.
"I have heard people say that hate is the opposite of love. But I disagree. It is apathy that is the opposite of love. And the opposite of fear as well perhaps," the drakeling hypothesized, her attention fixed on the Ring of Word Twisting. She worked it with her thumb, turning it around and around on her finger. "I have some feeling now. I am just not sure I know what it is. It sounds like you do not have much in the way of feeling left in you. You are clearly a survivor. That is a smart survival strategy."
Light and cold air flooded the hut suddenly as the door was drawn aside and Ayremac stepped in. "It's dawn," he said, directing his comment at Shamalin. The cleric, however, did not meet his gaze even as she got to her feet, casting the fur blankets aside.
"It's no strategy, Ixin." Shamalin sighed, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Perhaps you don't need to try so hard to make sense of what's been done. It could be that a new purpose has found you, Ixin. Give it time." And without waiting for a response, she shouldered her way past Ayremac and out of the hut, leaving the holy warrior blinking in confusion.
"Did I miss something?" he asked Ixin, baffled by Shamalin's brusque demeanor. The sorcerer glanced up at him and shook her head.
"No," she sighed and laid herself back onto her pallet. "But I did."
A dozen days had passed since the Order had entered New Mellorell and there was a heavy tension as the remaining party members were escorted to the city's limits to reunite with Morier and Huzair. The addition to their ranks of Lord Hofralix's agent, the elf maid Anania Caelrath, made them all ill-at-ease. She said little and seemed capable, but the fact that they had been given no choice but to have her in their midst chafed considerably.
"Of course, I give you a choice. You will take my trusted agent on your quest or you will leave behind the fruits of our partnership," the beholder had said. "She is a solid combatant, so you need not worry about her being a liability. And she will make certain that your actions serve the interests of The Dominion of the Final Forge."
Relief was palpable on both sides as the company parted ways with Premarch D'rach and his retinue. The steward stared at them strangely as the company dispersed their new belongings and prepared for travel. He had seen many things in his years of service to Lord Hofralix, and knew better than to question his sovereign's wisdom, but the idea that this unrefined band of ruffians stood together with the people of New Mellorell against The Dominian of Flesh Reborn was unsettling to say the least. With an expression of disappointment, Anania Caelrath raised her hand in farewell before turning to follow The Order on its way eastward. The Premarch's eyes narrowed and he watched until he felt certain they were well on their way. Then he straightened, adjusting his robes, and signaled the return home with considerably more ardor than was ordinarily his style.
As if by mutual consent, The Order pressed on farther than usual in an effort to put distance between themselves and recent events. None spoke, feeling as if they had a spy in their midst. When Karak finally called a halt to their march, it was nearly dark and they moved quickly to set up camp. Dinner was consumed in silence. For her part Anania seemed unperturbed by their behavior. She ate what food was offered and tended efficiently to her gear, paying particular attention to the exquisite and rune-encrusted longbow she carried with her. Ayremac was the first to break the tension.
"I don't know about you all, but I need a drink," he said. "Karak, how about breaking out that magic cup of yours?"
The sound jolted Shamalin awake. It took several seconds to remember where she was; still in New Mellorell, as they had been for several days. Disappointed, she looked across the room to the origin of the sound. All was still now; the embers in the firepit and a feint gray radiance creeping in around the edge of the door provided the only light. But it was enough for her night vision to clearly reveal Ixin sitting upright amidst the drift of furs that formed the sorcerer's sleeping pallet, eyes wide open and staring. Ayremac and Karak were on watch; it was close to sun up. Knowing there was no returning to the refuge of her own dream, Shamalin sighed and propped herself upright. The coarse skins offered little comfort, but she gripped the hide tightly around her nonetheless.
"A dream?" she asked and Ixin regarded her silently, unsure of how to answer. Her eyes glowed in the darkness like tiny golden candles. "You've woken every night now the same way. What is it that haunts you?" Shamalin asked.
"Images... of something," the drakeling spoke, Lord Hofralix's Ring of Word Twisting translating her speech into the Common Tongue. "It's all a blur."
She paused and Shamalin thought perhaps she would not continue.
"I think I was running from someone, or something... in another place," Ixin said after a few moments.
"Before?" Shamalin encouraged her gently, coaxing details from the woman.
"Before," Ixin admitted sullenly, quiet desperation coloring her voice. "But... why don't I remember more of the time before? More of my former life?" Shamalin drew her legs up and hugged her knees, resting her chin there.
"A lot's changed for you, Ixin. You died, for goodness' sake," the cleric said. "You should draw strength from your friends. We're here to help you. Morier and Karak both knew you before, didn't they?" Ixin snorted.
"I feel so mixed about Morier and Karak," she said, stretching her diminutive wings languidly as she ruminated. "On the one hand, they are a comfort to me because they do have some familiarity. On the other hand, the fact that they are not more familiar to me is very discomforting." She shook her head sadly and silence pressed in on the sunken hut for a drawn moment and finally Shamalin prompted with a question.
"What can you remember?" she asked in a soft voice and when Ixin responded, her own voice was barely above a whisper.
"I remember feeling incredibly scared, and now I can't even imagine feeling scared like that." She paused, her face screwing up in consternation. "And there was something else, but I can't put my finger on it. It's as if I used to be connected to other beings and now I am disconnected from everyone. Even myself."
Shamalin considered the words. She had not been very successful at bridging the language barrier that Draconic presented. In fact, she had very nearly given up and the cleric wondered what they would be doing right now had Lord Hofralix not given the sorcerer that orcish ring she now wore. Silently, Shamalin resolved to do better getting to know the new Ixin.
"It must have been awful... " the Florian observed, "being only able to communicate with Huzair." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and from across the room Ixin returned the smile in full.
"Let's just say I sensed I was missing a certain... balanced perspective on our experiences," she laughed, a thin, brittle sound in the dark room. After the chuckle subsided she sighed before continuing. "I wonder, if you don't mind the personal question, do you too find that you have less of an... ability.. to be scared since your experience in the manor?"
Shamalin kept her expression void of emotion at the reference to her experience with Blackheart in Miller's Pond, but an icy chill ran through her just the same as her mind went unbidden back to that cold, tiled room. She rubbed unconsciously at her ankle feeling again the dull bite of the manacle that had held her to the foot of the brass tub in which Padgett had endured so horribly. Without effort she could again hear his cries for aid, pleas for the mercy that Shamalin represented but could not give. She remembered shamefully her own relief when he'd been taken finally away, his plaintive moans muted by the closing door. After a time she answered carefully, "To be scared implies that one cares about the outcome of living or dying. In that sense then perhaps there is less fear now." With an effort, she pulled herself back to the present and looked squarely at Ixin. "But that kind of thinking makes one reckless. And we have landed in a cause that cannot afford the luxury of indifference." Ixin nodded without enthusiasm.
"I have heard people say that hate is the opposite of love. But I disagree. It is apathy that is the opposite of love. And the opposite of fear as well perhaps," the drakeling hypothesized, her attention fixed on the Ring of Word Twisting. She worked it with her thumb, turning it around and around on her finger. "I have some feeling now. I am just not sure I know what it is. It sounds like you do not have much in the way of feeling left in you. You are clearly a survivor. That is a smart survival strategy."
Light and cold air flooded the hut suddenly as the door was drawn aside and Ayremac stepped in. "It's dawn," he said, directing his comment at Shamalin. The cleric, however, did not meet his gaze even as she got to her feet, casting the fur blankets aside.
"It's no strategy, Ixin." Shamalin sighed, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Perhaps you don't need to try so hard to make sense of what's been done. It could be that a new purpose has found you, Ixin. Give it time." And without waiting for a response, she shouldered her way past Ayremac and out of the hut, leaving the holy warrior blinking in confusion.
"Did I miss something?" he asked Ixin, baffled by Shamalin's brusque demeanor. The sorcerer glanced up at him and shook her head.
"No," she sighed and laid herself back onto her pallet. "But I did."
A dozen days had passed since the Order had entered New Mellorell and there was a heavy tension as the remaining party members were escorted to the city's limits to reunite with Morier and Huzair. The addition to their ranks of Lord Hofralix's agent, the elf maid Anania Caelrath, made them all ill-at-ease. She said little and seemed capable, but the fact that they had been given no choice but to have her in their midst chafed considerably.
"Of course, I give you a choice. You will take my trusted agent on your quest or you will leave behind the fruits of our partnership," the beholder had said. "She is a solid combatant, so you need not worry about her being a liability. And she will make certain that your actions serve the interests of The Dominion of the Final Forge."
Relief was palpable on both sides as the company parted ways with Premarch D'rach and his retinue. The steward stared at them strangely as the company dispersed their new belongings and prepared for travel. He had seen many things in his years of service to Lord Hofralix, and knew better than to question his sovereign's wisdom, but the idea that this unrefined band of ruffians stood together with the people of New Mellorell against The Dominian of Flesh Reborn was unsettling to say the least. With an expression of disappointment, Anania Caelrath raised her hand in farewell before turning to follow The Order on its way eastward. The Premarch's eyes narrowed and he watched until he felt certain they were well on their way. Then he straightened, adjusting his robes, and signaled the return home with considerably more ardor than was ordinarily his style.
As if by mutual consent, The Order pressed on farther than usual in an effort to put distance between themselves and recent events. None spoke, feeling as if they had a spy in their midst. When Karak finally called a halt to their march, it was nearly dark and they moved quickly to set up camp. Dinner was consumed in silence. For her part Anania seemed unperturbed by their behavior. She ate what food was offered and tended efficiently to her gear, paying particular attention to the exquisite and rune-encrusted longbow she carried with her. Ayremac was the first to break the tension.
"I don't know about you all, but I need a drink," he said. "Karak, how about breaking out that magic cup of yours?"
