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Jul. 12th, 2010

[disney] belle


Introductory Post

((Under construction))

After a while, it became clear that this body of work could no longer function as an RPG. Ergo, it has been developed into a co-writing community for maerwyn and niyki. Posting access is restricted to moderators only. Feel free to watch if that's your cup of tea.

If we were on the silverscreen, making you go 'oooh!'Collapse )

IMPORTANT: All work here is copyright to maerwyn and niyki. All previous posts shall be friends locked until further notice.

Jan. 3rd, 2007


Woo-er-ooo .....

OOC: NOT looking forward to re-writing what we have here into novel form, but let's leave that for later, hm?? I'm sorry that this entry isn't terribly clever--it's going to take some time for me to slip back into things, especially since we're changing format to novel-style!


Maerwyn found herself confused by Asheron. This state of affairs was, however, not an unusual one and so she pretended that the sharpness of his tone had not struck her as peculiarly odd. Mae was one of those rare creatures who have managed to successfully raise the practice of acting to a fine art, a distinction that lent a certain chill to her character and an icy grimace on the expressions of those she purposefully displeased. The grey elf was, in a word, unfathomable. She was also very pleased with herself for being so, and a gleam of satisfaction managed to wend its way into a self-pleased smile. Grey-elves are not known for their sensitivity. While Maerwyn was far from conventional, she was also extremely fond of her pet vices.

"You sound rather unpleasant tonight," she said crisply to Asheron, wishing that Reuvinn wasn't so reserved--it would have made for easier conversation. Maerwyn had a vague feeling that they could have been friends if he hadn't been so ... so ... her thoughts diverted back to her original contemplations, while her (non)relationship with Caralissa's twin was, for the moment, pushed aside.

"Asheron, you really should try and work on your skills in diplomacy. I find them rather absent tonight. Of course, you're simply saying what most people of intelligence are feeling. That, however, does not make what you say any more pleasant to hear." Maerwyn's eyebrows drew together in a strange fashion that expressed little of her true emotion, serving instead to veil her bright eyes from the dyade's rather perceptive ones. How Asheron couldn't tell she was nervous, she would never understand--his skills of observation were usually excellent. Maerwyn returned her attention to Caralissa.

"If the Siddhajj trainees are excluded from the assembly, then the council must be discussing something that pertains to us eighth-years," the elf pronounced with authority. Her tone usually left no room for argument, yet in this case, Maerwyn's words were tolerably less authoritative. She was almost plaintive. "Oh, I suppose Reuvinn's right--but really, there's very little else to talk about. The feast was completely ruined and my piece right along with it. I swear I'll never sing in public again! Politics prove an unkind audience. As for other topics of conversation, they're all unimportant and faded, now. Who wants to talk about the petty grievances and romantic affairs of other students when death and plague ravage the country?" Her voice trailed away. "I, for one, would rather have the respectability to think on the higher things."

All this to be said, Maerwyn was in a particularly contemplative mood, such that she didn't mind monologuing to herself. The expressions of her companions were lost on her for the most part during her spiel. It was only after the last word had fallen off of her tongue that Mae began to pay attention. 'I wonder when we shall be let in,' she thought while glancing surreptitiously around at her companions.

While the students pressed together in the hallway outside of the council chambers, a raging debate was taking place inside the dark-panelled room. Hawerth's rather pointed question had opened up a proverbial can of worms--as well as resulting in some spilled tea--regarding the expectations to be placed upon the eighth-year students.

"We can't just send them off to be retrained!" objected one professor. "They'll come back completely wild and out of their senses, likely enough. All that we've troubled ourselves to teach them in the last years of their education will be out the window. They'll want more!"

"More what?" asked Ylspeth as reasonably as her irritated mentality would allow.

"Why, more of everything--more adventure, excitement, weapons training!" shouted the professor in his fervor. Nods and murmurs of assent sounded from some parts of the room, while in others the argument had taken an entirely different turn, resulting in a jumbled debate and conversations crossing each other to some confusion.

"Splendid," muttered a well-dressed elf. "Just what we came to hear--a load of nonsense. We can't expect mere students to take on our greatest enemy. They're young, for crying out loud! You should be ashamed of sending inexperienced children into harms way." The way she emphasised the word "children" was both demeaning and endearing towards them.

"Well, we can't spare anyone else," said her naiad neighbour sarcastically, much to the consternation of Ylspeth, who was trying to follow everything at once and consequently failing quite miserably to understand anything at all.

"It's quite true," she responded. "All of our professors must remain here to instruct and protect our students."

"The ones that are left behind, you mean," retorted the elf.

"Yes, of course--" Ylspeth was drawn off momentarily by a heated exchange of insults taking place between a seltorike and ... well, by the time she got over to it, the argument had been absorbed into a much larger arena of chattering discourse.

"I was talking on a more global scale," muttered the naiad absently. "Kinglyfort's armed forces are going to be quite preoccupied already. We must act, in our limited capacity--to fail to act! That would be horrid of us." She turned to engage a nearby professor with her ideas.

Ylspeth returned from quieting the dispute to find the room in chaos. She shot a livid glance in Hawerth's direction and made a futile attempt to call the room to order. 'That bloody man had to do this, yes he did,' she grumbled inwardly. 'He may claim to have the students' best interests at heart but he's horribly cruel to the rest of the assembly, bringing that up as he did. I'll teach him negative implications!' After great effort, she managed to bring the room to a rather restless semblance of order.

"Eanon?" she pleaded.

Jul. 21st, 2006


(no subject)

Characters:: Maerwyn (mine), Tammaen (mine), Professor Ylspeth Morweilaine (mine)
Title:: Bellator Paean Council of War
Location:: Council Chambers
OOC:: I'm posting this to my private journal, as well ... simply because I feel like it. Everyone, this is what I do with my spare time, apart from my art ....


~:: Maerwyn ::~

Faint feelings of claustrophobia were beginning to assail Maerwyn as she made her way down the packed hall, ducking between tall and overly intimidating Bretherlbod players and more academically focused students of lesser stature - all of them discussing the night's events in tones decidedly louder than normal. The grey elf felt like pressing her hands over her delicately pointed ears, but comprehending that this would be an undignified manner in which to traverse the passage, managed to conceal her unease and displeasure behind an unreadable expression. At the very end of the hallway Maerwyn's eyes picked out several familiar faces, and with great relief she forced her way through to them, vaguely mindful of the state of her appearance, which was worsening quickly the more she had to bump into less careful students. At length, the distance was won with some difficulty, and the exhausted creature stood before her friends with dishevelled hair and eyes sparking with an electric distaste for the recent goings-on.

"Lissie, please remind me never to respond to another Council summons ... what dreadful nuisances, they are!" She nodded to the dyade who stood by with a rather comfortably relaxed look upon his good-natured face. "Hello, Asheron. Reuvinn." This was said to Caralissa's brother, who was leaning over his twin sister's shoulder with an expression of amusement and repressed excitement. "Any news? Have the Council decided anything? Or have they said anything more about the scroll?" Maerwyn's words tumbled over each other in the elf's haste to speak them and release them from the binding tyranny of her generally reflective and often jumbled thoughts. Maerwyn tried to restrain herself from looking too much at the door, that silent and unresponsive piece of treated wood that stood between her and all the answers even her inquisitive mind could require.

//It won't do to dwell on Asheron too much, either,// thought she with an outward frown. //That subject is a little too dangerous for the present - far be it from me to be emotional!// The very thought sent a shudder down the slender girl's spine as she looked to Caralissa for a response - although, even the distant knowledge of the friendship between the object of her thoughts and the human sent Maerwyn's mind chasing off strands of tangled and uncomfortable thoughts.

~:: Professor Ylspeth ::~

The weary herbology professor was startled out of a light doze by the sudden mention of her name, and coming to herself she discovered that Eanon Twelv-Nor had referred a guest's question to her. She sat up, subconsciously straightening her habit and wondering for the hundredth time why she had felt required to dress her best for the evening. //All I've managed to do is get my finest outfit dirty,// thought Ylspeth sadly, fingering an unidentifiable reddish stain that now adorned her sleeve. She cleared her throat and turned to the assembly. "Could you repeat the question?" She felt eyes burning into her in a sort of condemnation, though it was doubtful anyone had noticed her momentary descent into the land of dreams.

One of the other teachers - an individual that was not a member of the AEWU - managed to repeat himself without sounding entirely put out with the herbology professor. "I was wondering," said he, "what this 'test' will exactly involve. Should I expect those who do not ... succeed ... to return to my classes damaged, or otherwise hampered in their studies?" His voice was clear, but the lateness of the hour dulled the sharpness of his intent somewhat.

Ylspeth Morweilaine gave a small cough and contemplated the question with some unease. "That," she said with some emphasis, "is a question that not even I can answer, and is doubtful that there is anyone here that can. The children are to be entrusted to an ... associate ... of the AEWU, but not one who is present here tonight. He is a somewhat reclusive type, unfortunately, but our messages travel quickly enough to provide his assurances that the children will not be materially damaged." It suddenly jolted the professor that she had called the Eighth Years 'children' - and she realised that in essence they still were innocent and inexperienced, and it pained Ylspeth to realise they could not always remain so. She returned to the question. "As to whether the testing proceedure impairs their learning ability, I should hope not. In fact, it is my understanding that they all shall be ... benefited ... by the experience. Professor Twelv-Nor?"

Mar. 10th, 2006


~:: The Council Chambers ::~

Characters:: Maerwyn (mine), Tammaen (mine), Professor Ylspeth (mine for now)
Title:: Bellator Paean Council of War
Location:: 8th Year Dorms/Council Chambers
OOC:: -SO- not motivated to post, but I must ... get ... it ... done! Please be praying for Esther's bro, he was in an accident ... and for my dad, who's in hospital for chest pain .... Oh and Niyx, I've forgotten who we'd set as Mae's roommate?


~:: Maerwyn ::~

The young elf sat perched on the edge of her bunk, hands buried in the rumpled bedspread, fingers unconsciously clenching the woolen fabric so tightly that her knuckles blanched. Her roommate lay on her own bed below, but Mae did not look at her. Instead, she studied the whitewashed stone wall opposite with an intensity that marked her as both a deep thinker and a vague one ... a study of contradictions common to her race. Varied thoughts rose in her mind, each warring for further contemplation.

Plague ....

People dying ... families, villages - tattered and destroyed ... sickness, pain ... bitter and unforseen farewells ....

Cortenous ....

Cruelty ... bloodlust ... torment ... fear ... anger.

//My -parents.-//

Deep, innate and unquenchable hatred.

War ....

Blood ... blood-dipped steel ... chaos ... the rise and fall of nations ... the question of alliance - and loyalty to that alliance ....

Defeat. To perish, to wither in the wasteland of abandonment ....

Victory. To conquer at the sacrifice of innocence and naïveté ....

//There is a chance of victory, but at what cost?//

Maerwyn knew all too well that there were only two means of ending the crisis - to abide by cruel Cortenous' scheme and play her wicked game, or to employ powers as great and tainted as her own.

The elf's gaze was bitter as she moved from memorising the wall's unchanging texture to the shifting tangle of shadows that played across it through the window. The lights of the lanterns on the lawn below gleamed through the many-paned glass, throwing the silhouette of leaves and branches against a many-coloured backdrop, stirring with the rising breeze.

Soft footfalls in the corridor drew her eyes at last from her most intense study, denoting the presence of watchful eyes. As they reached the door to Maerwyn's room, they paused.

A soft rap, not so much entreating entrance as to gain attention. "To the meeting hall, girls." Professor Ylspeth's voice filtered through to Mae. "Do not make the council wait." The disembodied voice then continued along the corridor, speaking the same words at every door with gentle command.

The grey elf promptly swung her legs out above the floor and dropped nimbly to the cold flagstones. A momentary glance in a small mounted mirror assured Maerwyn that her hair, at least, remained relatively untouched by the current events. Mae's eyes, however, seemed deep-set and brighter than usual, glittering unnaturally by the lamplight and ringed with deep shadows.

Without a word and hardly a glance around her, Mae opened the door and left the room, gliding down the corridor and broad dormitory stairs ahead of her roommate. Her mind was still whirling, she hardly recognised Andi and Tammaen as they materialised ahead of her, or comprehended the brooding atmosphere of the lower halls. Students moved, seemingly suspended by unseen strings from the hand of a puppet master, blurring together with an almost surreal gradient.

The short walk from the dorms to the main hall seemed to take even less time than usual, the grass underfoot fading purple and grey into the silver mists of the near downs. Warm sandstone walls and carven turrets were half-seen before and above the dreamwalkers, seeming to float away in a dimness that was not entirely borne of mental dejection.

One of the tall arched doors of the hall was thrown open and a lone professor directed the Eighth years, special guests and council members inside, while struggling to prevent the more curious individuals of other years from slipping by to the interior. With a little luck and a great deal of help from the territorial Eighth years, these were eventually repelled, and Mae was able to step by after a brief inspection. Ignoring the quiet beauty of the starlight through the tall stained-glass windows, the grey-elf made for the lower halls, where she had never yet actually been allowed. She found students already waiting, lining the passage to the council room and leaving just enough of an aisle between them for the more official representatives to make their way. Still more Eighth years filed in behind Maerwyn, pressing her forward until she was squashed somewhere between the Brethelbod crowd with their vacant looks and a group of more scholarly students, with their all-too-knowing ones. The realisation was beginning to set in, at least for some.

~:: Professor Ylspeth ::~

As a highly respected professor of herbology and knowledgeable scholar, Ylspeth was less widely recognised as a member of the Council of the Wrose - a far more important but more exclusively known entity than Bellator Paean's School Board. The fifty-something human pushed her way through the packed entryway to the Chambers, instantly regretting having not left the summons to someone else. As it was, she was the last of the council and guests to arrive, and had the uncomfortable situation of having to clamber over and around other attendees to find the least accessible seat in the entire room, which was set out in a semicircular array. Her seat was the farthest of the foremost row, which was reversed in direction so as to face the rest of the assembly.

Many times, she had entered this room - both secretly and for issues less important.

//Not this time, it would seem.// When Ylspeth reached her seat, the chairman nodded to her and then stood to speak, commanding the assembled guests and teachers to utter silence.

Mar. 6th, 2006


(no subject)

Characters: Kavek Shadowblade, mine; Anwing, temp. NPC


Kavek Shadowblade swore. Violently. "Erlfriid," he muttered under his breath. "What have you done?" Draining another goblet of wine, he quickly sat down at the 8th year table for no apparent reason. Hiding his discomfort, he pretended to make a careful study of the crystal goblet he held, all the while his mind whirling. //A plague? Not even a military action. At least I know a little something about that,// he thought ruefully.

Turning, he stared out over the gathering, all wrapped in chaos. The teachers were being accosted by dozens of confused students, asking rapid questions, questions the teachers couldn't answer, questions the teachers were asking themselves... Kavek pushed away from the table. Professor Hawerth was calling for quiet, sending the students to their rooms for the night, trying to quell the mob.

Kavek moved quickly, outdistancing the moving crowd now. In the back of his mind, he wondered where Chloe was, but then he thought, //How obtusely obvious. She brought me here on orders; someone here knew this was going to happen, and they wanted my help with it.// Suddenly, an image from the Anora flared up unbidden in his mind: "Ancient code and ancient blood are wakened to valor..."

Brushing it aside, annoyed with his weakness, he took a left and silently stepped through the velvet blackness of the visitors' chambers. Glancing at the door of his room, he suddenly stopped. Footsteps, hurrying up behind... old instincts honed in the navy of Daeruin Hothron blazed up and he whirled, dropping into a martial stance.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Kavek, you young bull. Surely your brain ain't so addled as to not recognize old Anwing, hey?"

Kavek swore again. "Anwing, is that really you?"

A candle was suddenly lit, and sure enough, the old Weaponmaster's face appeared in the dim halo of light. Anwing's face was fixed in a broad grin. "Sure as fate, young Shadowblade," he chuckled. Kavek nodded, all gloomy thoughts of the Kinglyfort scroll lost in the light of this meeting. The two stood there for a minute, surveying one another, until Anwing said, "It's been a long time, boy."

Kavek smiled quickly, just a flash. "Indeed. Is that gray hair I see, Anwing?" he murmured, teasing in tone, but thinking, //Gray hair. And I am not far behind.//

Anwing drew himself up. "It's armor-plating for the skull, my boy, armor plating," he declaring, rapping himself on his rapidly balding head.

Kavek rocked back and forth on his heels, nervous for some reason in the presence of his weapons teacher. "To be sure," he replied distractedly. The Kinglyfort scroll was wending its way through his thoughts again.

Anwing suddenly spoke up. "I... heard about your father, my boy. I'm... I'm sorry. I know you loved him." Then: "How did it happen?"

Kavek frowned, thinking of that last moment, Tharkun thrashing in death, blood on the door... the fierce fire of revenge sated, the cold sickness of dissatisfaction...

"He was murdered," he muttered, swallowing heavily. "By a man named Tharkun."

Anwing nodded sympathetically. "Ah. Have they... found him yet?" he asked tenatively.

Kavek thought for a minute, remembered again, the dark interior of the inn, the smoke, Tharkun's bleared eyes, dilated in drunkenness. //He wasn't even armed...// Brushing aside the new thought, he replied, "By now, most likely. I ought to know."

Anwing frowned. "Why?"

"I killed him."


There was long silence, then Anwing said, uncomfortable, "I suppose they brought you here to help us... but how did they convince you? Last I heard, you were operating as a mercenary."

Kavek nodded absently. "I was. They didn't really convince me... Chloe Brooke-Seer came to me in Daron, said that I was wanted for the Feast. She didn't explain why. Next thing I knew, I was here..." he trailed off silently, feeling vulnerable, uncomfortable with the feeling. He had always been in control, and now he wasn't. He didn't like it.

Anwing nodded. "Probably brought you here to replace me," he replied ruefully. "Getting old, Kavek," he muttered, rubbing his knee. "I can't even do the Scythe anymore," he said, smiling wanly.

Kavek felt a pain suddenly tighten in his chest. "Oh, they haven't even told me what I'm here for," he replied. "And I'm sure you just need a little practice," he added, thinking of Anwing... facetiously teaching the students how to touch an enemy's cheek in battle... how to taunt certain races, getting their minds off the battle... teaching Kavek the Scythe...

Anwing shook his head. "I'm too old to keep teaching these things, Kavek," he growled, as if to himself. Then, voice suddenly soft and sad, "I... I need your help, son."

Kavek was speechless for a long moment. Then: "Very well, Anwing."


A few minutes later, Kavek was in his room, mind whirling twice as fast. Anwing had aged so quickly that, to Kavek, it was the difference between night and day. He felt horribly torn by strange grief. He hadn't felt this since he had been captured by Hothron. Muttering under his breath, he stripped out of his black tunic and walked over to the window, throwing it open. Moonlight streamed in, dimly illuminating the room behind him. Far off, a group of child-like voices were singing a dirge, mourning the dead lost in Kinglyfort. The words washed over Kavek, stabbing his heart with new grief for his family.

Scripan-dun mod,
gemetan freod en herig
motan en heofonlic Hremm
beran eower heorte on heah.

Wandering spirit,
find your peace
may your soul be borne
On the wings of the Raven.

A very simple Vyannic song, it had no grand imagery, no words to strike the heart. Yet its very simplicity made grief pour into Kavek's soul -- a feeling so alien, yet so recently near to him, than it was alost too much to bear. All of the feelings that he had bottled up threatened to burst forth.

Suddenly, he turned away from the window, in control again, the stone back in place. He was Kavek Shadowblade, assassin, once more. Frowning at his weakness, he was about to slip into bed when the soft flap of leathery wings came to his ears. Curious he turned -- and saw a huge bat perched on his window sill. It hissed at him once, dropped something on the floor, its red eyes burning venomously. It was waiting.

Kavek scowled. A messenger of Cortenous. He recognized the creatures. They were specifically bred for such deliveries.

Carefully drawing a small knife -- sometimes these 'messengers' were actually assassins -- he eyed it as he bent down to pick up the roll of paper it had dropped. But it had no secret intentions; as soon as he retrieved it, the creature quickly disappeared into the night.

Shaking his head, the mercenary quickly broke the seal -- bearing the sign of Cortenous, as he expected -- and read the firm handwriting with a practiced eye.

To Master Kavek Shadowblade, formerly of Vyann -- Greetings.

It has been brought to our attention that you are an eminently skilled man. Master Erlfriid, also of Vyann, recommended you to Her Ladyship as one who could further our war efforts. To this end, we are willing to entertain negotiations in exchange for your services.

Master Erlfriid has also warned us of your possible apprehension concerning the idea that we might attempt to procure your skills. Therefore, we are willing to offer you anything that may appeal to you. Her Ladyship has many skills beyond the minds of mortal man. For example, we have heard that your father died at the hands of one Tharkun, and that your mother perished at the hands of pirates. To express to you our goodwill, Her Ladyship could arrange for your parents to be...

The words blurred into meaningless lines. Kavek took in one deep breath and the face of his father filled his mind. //It's not possible.// Then, picking up the scroll again...

...demonstrate Her Ladyship's power, once you finish reading this scroll, the spear you left in Vyann shall be returned to you.

Kavek frowned and quickly scanned the remaining lines; they were mere niceties, details about the exchange of services, where to meet if he desired the employment, then it was signed:

For the Glory of Her Ladyship,
General Errtrus Demored
9th Army, Cmndg

Suddenly, Kavek saw something else lying under the windowsill where the bat had perched. Bending, he laid his hand around it. It proved to be a small, round piece of wood, darkly polished. //Hmm. Wonder where this came fr--//

Instantly, the thing grew, lengthening, stretching to almost six feet in length, a curved, steel blade sprouting from the end of the stave, the blue scroll-work against the keen steel, the sign of his house in the haft. His spear.

Kavek Shadowblade swore. Violently.

Mar. 3rd, 2006


~:: The Game Begins ::~

Characters:: Maerwyn (mine), Daeruin (mine), the [second] Scroll (sunpc), Hawerth (mnpc)
Title:: Bellator Paean Autumn Feast
Location:: 8th Year Table; Main Stage
OOC:: YAY! 4 active players = lots of fun times. Now for my dark and dreadful post. ;-) Enjoy. And wow, CSI is cool. Too cool. I'm off to investigate this 'cool.' ||puts on CSI sunnies and struts out|| This depressing show may set the stormy mood for this post ....

Oh, and also ... if anyone has forgotten where places are in Koe, here is the map: http://www.geocities.com/bellatorpaean/map_bellator_02.jpg ....


~:: Lord Daeruin ::~

The wind held an abnormal chill, seemingly as unhindered by the heavy woolen cloaks of the ship's crew as the icy rain it carried.  Heavy drops spattered the deck in thin waves of moisture, drawing curses from men and elves alike as they faught to keep their footing on the ship's surface.  It had been but two days since they had departed from sight of land, having followed the coastline of what had once been the fair land of Ailemora - and now was the satellite realm of Rhaedok-Kai, barran of all decent forms of life.  Their mission had been a simple one, and having completed the morally nefarious exercise, the crew was more than eager to reach the relative safety of their home port.  Two of the crew had been isolated out of necessity, and likely were drawing their last, painful breaths as the west-facing pinnacles of the Isle of Cortenous rose above the horizon, razor-tipped and jagged beneath the broiling clouds.

Lord Daeruin drew his eyes from the sight to meet the eyes of his first mate.  "Take her around to the North harbour. Once we dock, all crew are to remain on board until word arrives from Cortenous."  Daeruin's subordinate nodded slowly, and strode down the reeling deck to carry out his orders. Slowly, the grey-green hills of the Lost Isle fell away to the westward as the ship wended its way through a maze of jumbled rocks and bleached reefs.  The cries of the crewmen were lost amid the howling wind, weather Daeruin knew to be most unnatural.

His grey blue eyes betraying an anxiety that he rarely felt, Daeruin returned to his survey of the isle as it continued to encroach upon both the skies and his mind.

"I hope that She is pleased," the Kairin elf murmured.  "The Great Game has been unleashed, and now Her enemies will reap the benefits of their opposition."  Those cold pale eyes flickered momentarily as the right hand of cruelty itself overcame his momentary lapse of composure.  "Death. Let us hope it will not claim us all."  He had already lost two of his crew, and feared that the rest were doomed to the same end - although by other means.  They knew too little, had seen too much ... and were now to pay the blood price of service to the Betrayer.  //We are all pawns in this little Game of Hers,// Daeruin reminded himself.  //Shame ... they are the best crew I've had for many years.//

~:: Maerwyn ::~

The young Aldarone awoke from her reverie as the final words of the Vyannese scroll were read, the concluding admonition echoing in her mind as the scroll vanished in a burst of golden light, magically relocated to the ancient archives of Bellator Paean.

"He wishes to remind those who dwell within the House of Learning of the ancient trust of protection they once swore with the purpose of invoking it."

For a moment, her eyes stared vacantly into space, until out of the rising cacophany of sounds around her, a single voice was raised in a song of merriment.

'Oooh, when I left m’ mother dear
The world was dark and grey
But now a feast or famine here
I’ll keep the dark at baaay ...'

Astonished at the seeming conflict of the merry tune with her gloomy thoughts, Maerwyn spun around to face the singer.  It took her a moment to comprehend the strange sight of a female pixie sitting surrounded by dozens of the most popular dishes of the feast in the very center of the 8th Year table, belting out a tune of seeming insensibility while the students sat stunned, gaping at the sight of a damp, apple-scented pixie in their midst.  A distant memory of having glimpsed this particular feast-goer earlier in the night rose at the back of the elf's thoughts as the subject finished her song with apparently genuine gusto.

'Oooh how an’ where the food might come
It really doesn’t matter
For twice upon this merry day
I kissed my dear grand patter!'

With a grand flourish, the precocious pixie settled into demolishing a handy drumstick while Maerwyn watched in mixed amusement and consternation.  However, she was unable to concentrate exclusively on the featherbrained performer as at the very moment that the pixie concluded her song, a brown-feathered owl fluttered down into view above the stage.  The twitters that had held aloft the first scroll converged once more as a second scroll was unfurled.

Almost at once, the atmosphere of the assembly altered, descending into an attentive silence as the scroll began to speak in a scratchy, elderly female voice - as if the scroll's creator had been forced to speak it in a hurry and had not had the time or strength to embellish it with a more forceful personality.  Maerwyn's breath caught as she strained to listen, peering above the intervening tables towards the hovering parchment.  Any thoughts of the connection between the Anora she had sung and the birth of Aelwood's daughter (conveniently of the same name), or of the astonishing presence of a pixie were immediately banished.

"Word from the Diplomatic Court of Kinglyfort, to the Council of the Wrose of Bellator Paean, seeking aid and succor in these dark times."

Maerwyn noticed a tallish man on the fringe of the gathering straighten slightly, but her eyes were entirely focused on the scroll that now seemed to blaze with its own sharp light.

"The entire realm is in upheaval ... hundreds of our southern people have fallen ill from an evil malady, a plague released upon us.  Its exact origins are not known, as all who come in contact with those who first caught sick have died themselves."

The silence that had descended was so thick that it could be cut with a blunt dagger.

"The illness threatens entire villages along our border already, and it was first detected not three days ago.  Those unlucky enough to catch it first complain of a rash, or a blanching of the skin on the shoulders and neck, and break out in a fever within eight hours of the first symptom.  This rapidly escalates into exhaustion, breathing difficulties, dilerium, loss of consciousness, and finally death.  There has been no time to accurately count those affected, but it seems that hundreds may have already died." The woman's voice seemed to raise an octave, reflecting its maker's increasing concern.  "We know where this plague comes from.  It is its origin that has caused us to contact you, and beg for assistance.  The Wrose Alliance long stood the test of time before its existance became unnecessary.  We call upon that old allegience now.  We know where the Plague originated, but not where it was introduced.  We know who has sent it.  Not an hour ago, a scroll arrived from the land of Ykkor-"

At the mention of this name, the teachers shifted in their chairs, some of them making as if to dismiss the feast.  The students ignored the motion, every eye fixed above the stage.

"- addressed to us from Cortenous herself - curse her name!  She laughs at us, and our efforts to halt the spread of this disease.  Her word is that there is a cure, but it must be won.  It seems that now the allies of Kinglyfort must win it as a prize in a game only a sadist could enjoy.  This is beyond the power of our Court, our entire realm.  If the plague is not halted in Kinglyfort, it will spread to all of the remaining countries not under Her dominion.  We call upon you now as friends and allies of old, for assistance."  The voice paused, then continued.  "Many of those who have died have not yet been identified.  Those who have been, and have connections to the community of Bellator Paean are as follows."

The assembled students began to mutter amongst themselves - many had friends or family who lived in the realm of Kinglyfort, which bordered Alipe Equus to the south.  The scroll began to pronounce several names in a hasty manner, to which the students only half-listened.  Many were now standing, crowding around the teachers in a vain effort to gain more information.  Several voices floated above the crowd, however.

" ... Artaynia DeMoisse, Andoran elf .... "

" ... Khedivo Tyllm, dyade .... "

" ... Sirrane Porelle, human .... "

" ... Mallia Rholn, seltorike .... "

A tiny seltorike child seated a quarter of the way along the 1st Year table burst into tears, sobbing into her hands as her shrill voice penetrated the furour of the students. "Mother ...."  The scroll continued, unstoppable.

" ... Elaina Jespar Korinne, human ... Landon Peir, human ... Harrin Mortavoila, naiorr ... Sylfin Daystar, human .... "

Maerwyn's eyes misted as the voice continued to speak, her words unwanted and yet so necessary.  The school's Master of Herbal Lore, Professor Hawerth raised his voice to compete with the din, dismissing the students to their private quarters with a few gentle words.  Even as the students turned to leave, spirits oppressed, downfallen, the scroll's continuing voice haunted them across the lawn.

And the stars glittered brightly overhead, untouched by the troubles of the living.

Mar. 1st, 2006


Anora Reaction

Character: Truly Devoted
Title: Bellator Paean Autumn Feast
Location: the 8th year table
OOC: Sorry for the long absence, guys!! I'll try to be more stable in the future...

Soaked to the skin with cold, spicy, sticky apple cider, Truly D. found a comfortable nook between two colossal beer barrels on a high serving table and waited for the first act to begin, licking herself like a kitten who had been thoroughly misted in tuna fish juice. Her irregularly jointed, strangely flexible fingers pealed the flaxen hairs away from her face, which had been plastered there with cider, and squeezed the remaining drops into her mouth. These her tongue caught with a flourish.

Thus far it had been a very successful evening indeed: nothing irreplaceable had been damaged, no one had been seriously injured or mortally wounded, and no one was chasing her yet with poison, assassins or sharp objects in the motive of killing or banishing her from her present location forever. In fact, the people – particularly the elf looking folk which she encountered wandering about – seemed to have sincerely good intentions toward her, and she had yet to hear a particularly nasty or demeaning word from anybody.

Thus the pixie cuddled deeper into the warmth of her own scrawny little arms and willingly allowed the whole of her simple mind to be fully transported to an alternate consciousness by the breathtaking voice of the beautiful elf who fell under the tragic influence of the very Anora which she sang. The song was so much more than just a song... Though technically one might have said that the elf sang the Anora, the reality of the situation was that the Anora surpassed her voluntary ability and actually sang her.

The song began and commenced on its journey, neither rushing nor lingering in the hearer’s ear, simply being whatever it was to its fullest. Truly experienced a grim range of emotions, ranging from a terrible sense of foreboding darkness with the full and awful weight of death and time, to unadulterated inspiration in its rawest form which encourages and provokes the soul to better itself, rekindling the excellence of truth and moral character. It had been decades since the pixie’s soul had been so passionately engaged, because she was usually completely oblivious to events and objects that provoked thoughts of darkness and death, her fickle mind preferring to dwell only on the pleasant, innocent sorts of emotions.

“Hope comes; In fire and wind all is new, earth and water restore, The darkness is robbed of its victory by the light... The light.”

The pixie blinked slowly, her enormous sparkling amber eyes so wide and full of awe that she appeared very related to the chipmunk, in its most startled state of being. For a split second she saw – in the shelter of her mind, of course – the birth of her first deep thought. It was quite tiny, barely a glimmer of light in a sea of misty darkness, but there it was and it shattered the darkness of confusion and simplicity that encompassed it.

She blinked a second time, this time furiously rubbing her hands all over her face and violently tousling her pale blonde hair, doing so instinctively for lack of any ability to do otherwise. The thoughts that showed themselves to her through the song were unnaturally intense, and being foreign felt strange in her simple rooms of brain, and all this caused her to rub her face and head to relive the discomfort of containing deep ideas. Death was such a powerful subject, and it shocked Truly very badly. Needless to say the Anora was absolutely beautiful.

Suddenly unable to sit still in the presence of her own brain, Truly spazmatically lurched herself off of the refreshment table and hurtled onto the grass, landing in a cat like position, eyes darting left. Then right. Then left again, nostrils slightly flared for some strange invisible reason perhaps related to the powerful smell of evaporating apple cider. She hadn’t the merest idea where to go or what to do, and did not understand whatever emotions she had just experienced, her present scattered state being so completely disorganized that she could not have told you her name if you asked her point blank. Therefore, she rigidly stood to her feet and began marching in the direction which she presently faced, which (fortunately) was forward, not stopping until she reached the 8th year table.
It probably made a comical sight, seeing a sticky wet pixie hardly more than 4 feet tall strutting down the grassy aisle, her expression that of one who has just been pricked by a hot needle, for who can tell what strange notions pass through the mind of such pixies? No one knows.. not even them.

So there was the table. Now that Truly was in front of it, she was now forced to discern her own reason for marching towards it. “I must be hungry, for there is a lovely bit of food on this lovely bit of table..” Yes, that was it. Food was a friendly, familiar substance which bore no malice for her, and did not force her to think harder than she wished. It did not matter what she had been through or where she had been, food – and drink, if the occasion was right – never failed to make itself available for her pleasure and this was vastly comforting. Thus she scaled the leg of the table with great agility and expertly tiptoed across it until she reached the middle, where she sat decidedly, surrounded all sides by enormous delicious and exotic dishes. Truly beamed in a sort of inspired euphoria (perhaps left over from her strange reaction to hearing the Anora) and she decided that this must be how heaven was, for nothing could be more wonderful. The pixie broke into song.

“Oooh, when I left m’ mother dear
the world was dark and grey
but now a feast or famine here
I’ll keep the dark at baaay...

Oooh how an’ where the food might come
it really doesn’t matter
For twice upon this merry day
I kissed my dear grand patter!”

Truly Devoted siezed the drumstick of some enormous fowl on her left and took a vast bite out of it, oblivious to the bustle which surrounded her. In front of her, almost directly, was the very elf woman that sang the disturbing gothic song.

Feb. 22nd, 2006


(no subject)

OOC: Character: Kavek Shadowblade, mine


//The Anora. Sung within my hearing -- the gods have blessed me. I had forgotten...//

Kavek Shadowblade lingered in the dark corner for a long moment as Maerwyn finished the song. Colors exploded through his head, strange thought patterns of his own path in this war... prophetic, if he dared guess. Steeling himself against them, he tried to force them from his mind -- with limited, if any, success. //Such a song could do such things...//

Tapping his free hand on his thigh as an excuse for 'applause', he sipped delicately from his goblet and once more considered the gathering. It had been so long since he had been here, yet even so, the faces were all so different that his mind spun. The administrators, the teachers, he recognized, but the students... //Ah, you're getting old, Kavek. It's been... what? Twenty years since you visited?//

Turning away, he grimaced as his mind went back to the strange visions. They had flashed by so quickly, he had tried to ignore them, but some now positioned themselves in the forefront of his mind. Vyann. He'd recognized the palace. War. Death. Sickness. The ambiguous words made him shudder, but he didn't know what it had to do with any of what he'd seen. Ykkor, now that he understood. But where was his place in this? For that matter, why had Chloe even brought him here?

Kavek was so deep in his own thoughts that he failed to notice as the dispatch was opened before the assembly. Not until the man spoke did he really pay attention...

Feb. 20th, 2006


... Information Site Update ...

( it's 5:30am and I'm exhausted of admin duties )Collapse )

Feb. 17th, 2006


~:: Aftershock ::~

Player:: Kendracula
Character:: Maerwyn Istalindar; Tammaen
Title:: Bellator Paen, Autumn Feast
Location:: Stage Platform; 8th Year Table

OOC:: lol ... I'm listening to the Narnia soundtrack on my headphones ... it's so inspiring, lol. HONESTLY! I'm sitting here wanting to write something about my characters running around in the rain because it's the second track. It just gives me that feeling, you know??


~:: Tammaen ::~

At the Eighth Year table, the Niaorr Tammaen tilted his head up to take in the stars, more of an inborn reflex to veil the feelings plainly written across his face than anything else. As a Bretherlbod player, he pretty much led the pack as far as many were concerned - and any display of undue emotion was simply ... unacceptable. Forcing his lips into a half-grin half-sneer, Tammaen lounged back in his chair and swept his eyes around the table, only to have a startling revelation.

No one was looking at him. Some of them had their eyes closed, smiling as if dreaming, some were gaping at the platform with a most peculiar expression of comprehension - and some were glaring at the elf with barely concealed fear and anger. Whatever its effect, the Anora had at least one universal one - the stirring of new thoughts. It was as if each member of the audience was shown a mental image of the very darkness they feared, and given the choice to face it or to remain safe and comfortable. Those who chose the former were those who wore the expressionsn of delight or comprehension (although some may conclude those who actually enjoyed the sensation to be under the influence of alcohol), and those who subconsciously took the latter choice almost always wore expressions of utter self-revulsion.

Tammaen's eyes darted back to the Ice Queen as she opened her eyes, seeming to sag slightly out of either physical or emotional exhaustion - as he wasn't the greatest judge of character, he couldn't tell the difference. The fact that she, too, was showing emotion alleviated his fear of being made a fool in front of his friends. By the time he returned his eyes to his table, the scatter of clapping had turned into a gentle storm of applause - no one wanted to seem too conspicuous in their approval, and then there were those who had clearly not enjoyed the experience who glared at those who did.

~:: Maerwyn ::~

As she felt oxygen fill her lungs again, Mae managed a full curtsy to the audience, blinded by the fading light of her own spell-sun words. If there was anyone clapping her performance, she couldn't hear them - the world of the Anora had wrapped around her too tightly for that, she remained lost in the impressions she had received. As she made to leave the stage, the musicians leapt to their overenthusiastic feet and started an energetic marching tune - except for the second trumpeteer, he seemed too intent on killing Mae with his death glare to bother to lift the instrument to his lips. Maerwyn, however, did not notice this, as the grass seemed to glide by underfoot. The faces that were turned towards her shone dimly in the colourful lamplight, small pools of warmth and life.

Mae was almost to her seat when a small explosion of red feathers over the stage stopped her, a High-Court Lacquel fluttering into view as it dropped in from the outer darkness. An exquisite bird, the tiny creature seemed to be a mass of scarlet, gilded with gold by the ring of paper lanterns above it. As it settled towards the ground, one of the musicians moved quickly to remove the scroll bound to its leg. Once he had done so, the lacquel took flight, spiralling skywards once more.

Having forgotten that she was actually returning to her seat, Mae watched expectantly as the scroll was unbound, rising from the flutist's hand and unrolling as it did so.

//Clearly it's a public announcement from Vyann ... but we haven't heard from them in months!//

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