Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

Deminatza began her journey to the Abbey so she may consume her tonic and hurry back to Scaramandine. Her thoughts relived the conversations they shared this evening. It had been a most interesting evening; emotions ran both high and low. The high point was when he professed his love for her and her for him. The low point was…

“Wench,” a voice called out.

…apparently behind her. Deminatza turned around to see Poppy standing there, with loathsome hatred written across her face.

“Do you need a lesson in my name again, mistress Poppy,” she replied coolly.

“I know who you are Deminatza,” saying the name with disgust. “Scaramandine is mine. He *will* be mine. You can’t ever tear us apart. I gave him a son, we are a family. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I had hoped it would not come to this. I wanted to spare you the embarrassment,” Demi’s spoke with mock regret.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Scar admitted you had a drunken affair is that correct?”

Smugly, Poppy crossed her arms and nodded.

“Was he the first man you had bedded?”

“No.”

“So you have bedded others?”

“I believe that when I said no to your first question, that would imply that I had bedded others,” she chortled derisively.

“I shall take that as a yes. How many men would you say you have taken to your bed?”

“I have plenty of men who seek out my companionship. They flock to me, all men do.”

“Oh? How many men a fortnight come to seek out your company would you say?”

“At least six arrive on my doorstep, nearly breaking down my door.”

“Impressive, and the night of the drunken affair, how many men did you bed that night?”

“Just one, your beloved Scar, and I assure you he enjoyed every moment of it.”

Demi smiled, “And that is the evening you conceived your son.”

“Aye, both mine and Scar’s son.”

“Mistress Polly,” Deminatza said sweetly, “I am not versed in the ways of the bedroom. But I must know how is it that you are sure that was the night your son was conceived?”

“Are you that forgetful? Scar and I bedded one another.”

“Ahh yes, but you also have said that at least six men a fortnight come to your door seeking your bed as well. So let us see. If you and Scar bedded one another on the last week before the new moon that would mean,” Demi taps her chin in thought, “You have bedded eleven men before him. And yet, you are absolutely positive that your son belongs to Scar. That is amazing.”

All the color from Poppy’s face had drained.

Demi spoke in a steely tone, “Now I need your full attention, because I will not repeat myself. I will keep your secret, but only because I cannot bear the thought of hurting Scar. The way he spoke the boy, I can tell he loves him dearly. So as far as I am concerned, he *is* Scar’s son. However, if you dare to threaten me or what is mine, I will tell him. You will no longer receive the weekly gold he provides. And you will have to explain to your son why the only man he knew as his father no longer takes him hunting or fishing breaking your son’s heart. So tread carefully, madam. This shall be the only warning I give you.”

The lady in blue watched the stricken woman a moment. “Now if you will excuse me, I must hurry, I am late for an appointment. By your leave, mistress,” she bowed leaving Poppy stunned and alone.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

The stinging, scathing, rebuff directed at her from both Deminatza and Scar left Poppy hurt and vengeful. She held back her tears, however, since the gold she had received always managed to alleviate whatever pain or spite she felt toward the father of her child. Deminatza had not been shaken in the least when she discovered her man had a child, writing it off as a result of a man's need. She had hoped she could have used that knowledge to blackmail him, but now that idea was dashed to pieces. Standing on the hanging bridge in Papua, she considered, only momentarily, tossing the coins Demi had given her into the muck below. As angry and ill-tempered as she was, however, she was not that far gone.

"Such a sad face," came a voice from behind her.

She wheeled about to see someone who had only recently arrived in town. How he had stolen up on her without her noticing disturbed her greatly; she prided herself on her alertness. "No'un uv ye bi'nez," she answered in her thick Papuan dialect of which she was most proud. "Go away. Leave me ta be."

The dark robed man placed his hand gently on her back, patting it softly. "I saw and heard it all. They treated you shamefully back there. I thought you might need the solace of a friend's company," he replied, speaking in a condescending lilt.

She snorted. "Dat's nat all ye wan' I'm sures!" she retored. "Well, I'm nud inna mood dis murnin'"

He moved his hand. "You are wrong. I only wish to help you. Tell me what I can do."

Poppy nodded her head in the direction of the Inn. "Ye ken make dat woo-mun sorry fer how she treat me! Make her pay."

The man smiled. "Just tell me how much."

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

Poppy had practiced all morning and thought she had the "frightened mom" routine down pat. Oren, one of the keepers of the inn, saw her enter, heading for Scar's room.

"I am fairly sure he does not want to see you, Poppy. Why not just leave him and his lady be?" he advised.

She cast an angry glare at him. "Min' yer own business, Oren! Jace is missing!" she quipped, practicing her lines. She was pleased how authentic she sounded.

Oren, rebuked, expressed concern. "What happened?"

"Never ye mind... I need to tell Scar," she replied, knocking on Scar's door.

"Who is it?" came a voice from inside.

"Poppy," she answered. "You must come quickly! Jace is missing!"

The door opened wide and Scar, finishing dressing himself, stepped out. "What do you mean?" Scar noticed Oren standing nearby, looking helpless but wanting to do something.

"Jace went fishing this morning with some friends. One of the boys was old and so I trusted him. They went north. I wanted him back by lunch, but they did not appear. I am afraid, Scar... my little boy..." she put her face in her hands and sobbed.

Scar knew the area to the north of Papua was dangerous for anybody. To the northwest sprawled a large keep held by Terathans surrounded by Ophidian forces at war with one another. Both races were extremely hostile to all comers, and were deadly warriors. If that were not enough, there was a bridge that led north into lands filled with horrific creatures. He could not contain his ire. "How could you be so stupid?! I told him a thousand times NOT to go north to fish or hunt! He knew better and so did you! How could you let him... ah... nevermind!" he stormed out of the inn.

Poppy, forgetting that Oren was standing so close, looked up, now dry-eyed, and failed to suppress a smirk. Realizing he was watching, she lowered her head and sobbed a bit more before following after Scar.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

If the multitude of Ophidian Enforcers and Shamans attacking him from all sides was not bad enough, it certainly didn't help when eight or so hooded figures jumped out of the jungle around him and joined in. Between their poisoned assassin spikes, spells, and the Ophidian lances, Scar went down hard into the dirt. The last images he saw were those who loved him most---Deminatza and Jace, whom he went in search of. Now his life ebbed away, and he felt possessed of a calm hitherto unknown, but strangely, welcomed.

The assassins finished off the Ophidians and dragged his obviously lifeless body away toward the edge of a cliff.

"Master says he wants to see the body," one protested as they dropped it heavily on the ground to catch their breath. "He said there was something we must do with it to make sure. I say we take it back with us."

The leader, almost a head taller than the others, knelt down to grab the pale face of his mark, tongue hanging out loosely, to show it to the dissenter. "Looks dead, doesn't he?"

"You agreed to do this MY way, so let's do it MY way, Garrik!"

"MY master says to dispose of it, Berez," Garrik replied pointedly. "HE's the one paying for this little outing. I have YET to see who it is that you're working for."

"I haven't met him either," his opponent admitted.

The other chuckled. "So you don't even know who's giving you orders?! You're an idiot. Could be female for all you know!"

"And they are the deadlier of the species," another quipped.

"He will be mad if we don't bring the body back, I tell you!" Berez warned.

"No, not if he doesn't know why... or who."

"What do you mean?"

"This... fool!" The assassin spike bit deep into Berez's side just once, and he, too, fell like a sack of rocks. His killer looked around. "Anybody else protestin'?"

Having secured their compliance, Garrik ordered two of them to toss both bodies over the cliff. They fell unceremoniously two hundred feet into the river below.

Garrik reached into his pocket and pulled out the trophy that would guarantee payment---the severed right hand of the mercenary, complete with a signet ring still attached to a finger.

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

The room was deathly still.

Deminatza stood in the center of the room taking in her surroundings. There were articles of clothing strewn everywhere. She picked up one of his shirts and pressed it against her cheek, his scent filling her nostrils. She needed to feel close to him. She wanted to feel him pressed against her skin. Placing the tattered cloth on a near by table, she eyes closed and imagined him watching her. His icy blue eyes filled with love studying her every move. The dress slipping from her shoulders onto the floor. Her fingers slowly undoing the laces of her chemise. She could see him smiling now. She lifted the garment over her head and let the fabric slip from her fingers to lay by the dress that was pooled at her feet. He was looking intently at her now. Deminatza stood before him bare and vulnerable. He reached for her then vanished as her skin prickled, reacting to the cool breeze that swept through the room. Opening her eyes, she retrieved his shirt and pulled it on, its hem lightly resting mid thigh, then picked up the tattered cloth and tied her hair into a low ponytail.

She walked the perimeter of the room, her fingers caressing anything and everything he would have touched; the top of a chair, the armoire, the book that rested on the nightstand aside a half empty bottle of ale. Deminatza lifted the bottle to her lips and drank the remaining liquid. Its nectar tasted so sweet rather than its normal bitterness. She stood at the side of the bed, picturing him asleep. His raven black hair tossed this way and that. She smiled remembering how she had tried to listen through the wall to find out if he snored. The impression of where he rested his head was still there on his pillow.

Carefully, she slipped under the covers and pulled it tight around her. Deminatza closed her eyes envisioning the sheets as his arms, pulling her ever so close against him.

Please, my love, come back. Do not leave me alone in this world. It took us far too long to find each other. I cannot lose you again. There is so much yet we need to explore together, so much to experience. I love you. I need you here with me. You need to do whatever it takes to survive. Take whatever you need from me, my strength, my love, my will, anything. Please Scar, if you can hear me, come back to me… come back…

Deminatza buried her face into the pillow and wept until she fell asleep.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

She came out of nowhere... the vision of great white she-wolf, its ice-blue eyes peering straight at him, evoking the impression of dignity, confidence, and regality. He knew who it was instinctively, and welcomed the arrival. She nuzzled him once and he felt an instant surge of strength. The words "Arise, Scar, it is not your time," came unspoken into his mind. "You must enjoy life before you die."

His eyes opened. He was lying face down on the edge of a riverbank under a steamy midday jungle sun. All around him were wolves...white wolves, dozens of them. As he watched, they swarmed to attack an Ophidian who drew near, ripping it to pieces with their fangs and claws. Odd... they don't belong here. Then he realized the truth... she had sent them to protect him, at least until he could recover sufficiently to defend himself.

In attempting to rise, he felt the sensation of something missing... something not quite right. Was his hand numb or... ? Shockingly, his right hand was gone, cut off just above the wrist. A bloodly stump was all that remained. He slowly got to his feet and took a long look at himself. His armor, not to mention his clothing, was in tatters, splintered, and bloodied. Placing a finger inside one of the holes, he felt for a wound. There was none. Whatever damage he had received, save for his hand, had totally healed... and even that did not hurt.

Nevertheless, his strength ebbed and failed, and he swooned, falling back onto the sandy shore.

Cloaked Stranger · Visitor Joined: 24 Jun 2012 Posts: 1

He was smiling when he tied the ragged cloak in place. The bottom half was torn off, but it didn't matter, it made it all the more believable. The man examined the rest his clothing with a critical eye, it’s dirty enough, but not battle worn. He also noted that he had no signs of injury. He strode over to pick up the dagger, however, the only source of light in the room flickered, drawing his attention to the piece of parchment that lay beside the candle. He read the note, for the 10th time. There were only 2 words written, but they were important words, short and simple: It’s done.

He found the dagger, tested the blade’s edge and frowned.

“You dulled my blade,” he accused the mutilated corpse sprawled across his alter. “Ahh well, it couldn’t be helped.”

He raised the dagger chest high, then slowly dragged its blade diagonally, in a downward motion, across his chest, slicing both cloth and flesh. He repeated the process on back of his calf, this time, upward. He picked up the corpse’s right hand, cupped it in his and flexed his and the corpse’s fingers into a claw, raking its fingernails across his left cheek. He shuddered in a mixture of pain and delight. Sardonically, he regarded the dead beggar.

“You have served me well.”

He looked himself over one last time, satisfied, he started for Papua. Upon arriving at the outskirts of the jungle, he suddenly hunched over, clutching his chest and injured leg, dragging it behind him. The Papua inn was in sight. He forced himself to keep his agonizingly slow pace and reminded himself, soon… very soon. As he made his way past the swamp water, the reflection of Scaramandine II could be seen hunched over, clutching his chest and injured leg, dragging it behind him.

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

A mixture of emotions filled Deminatza as she lay, staring at her ceiling. Just yesterday, Korbin had brought her news that Scar was alive. Judas and Jolicia were right, insisting he was tough and would survive such a trek. She hastily wrote a missive, handed it to Oren instructing him to send it via pigeon courier. It was imperative her friends are informed of his return.

She rolled onto her side, looking out the window to gaze at the stars that did not appear to shine as bright; they appeared to match her thoughts. When Deminatza found him, he lay in bed, tended by three healers. She entered the infirmary and rushed to his side. He was speaking to her, but she was not listening. The joyous song of her heart rang in her ears at his visage. Then suddenly he spoke the words she had longed to hear.

“Demi, would you… could you consider marrying me?” He continued to speak, but she didn’t hear him. She was too shocked to offer a reply. Why could I not answer him then and there? Why did I not give him the answer they both wanted? Her eyelids grew heavy. What is stopping me from saying yes? Sleep over came her, but deep in the vaults of her mind, somewhere, something or someone quietly called to her “Dee.”

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

Oren allowed her to use the kitchen at the inn of Paupa when Deminatza revealed wanted to try her hand at baking. A good wife should know how to bake loaves of bread, while an excellent wife should know how to bake delicious loaves of bread. She settled on the former deeming, through practice, she would be the latter, hopefully.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of someone banging a door followed by the ever familiar voice of the Papuan woman, Poppy. Demi dusted off her hands and strode to the woman.

“Good evening mistress Poppy,” she tried to keep her voice cordial.

“Oh, it’s you. Look I don’t like you, go back to Jhelom,” Poppy spat, then resumed her tirade on the unoffending door.

The woman’s words hit her so hard it knocked the air out of her lungs. How did she know where I was from? A lucky guess perhaps? But I need to be sure.

“Why Jhelom?”

“Isn’t that where you’re from Jhelom?” Poppy turned to regard her, arms folded.

Deminatza managed to keep her voice steady, though she fidgeted slightly. “Nay mistress, I hail from Vesper.”
“Humph, that’s not what he told me.”

“Who is “he” Poppy? What are you talking about?”

Sensing an opportunity, she stretched out her hand, palm up and waited expectantly.

Deminatza reached into her pouch and retrieved a generous amount of gold and deposited it into her greedy hands.

Poppy then proceeded to describe a man of medium height, pale skin, his skeletal features emphasized the redness of his eyes, or at least appeared to glow red. She mentioned how he approached her inquiring about Scar and herself. This mysterious man wanted to know of Scar’s family and interrogated her about any possible scars or markings he may have. Then his questions had turned to her. She seemed to think the name was Darby, Danthy or something similar.

Who was this man, and why was he asking so many questions? How did he know I was from Jhelom? Is he someone from my past? She felt a sudden spark of hope. Maybe he knows who I am. Once again, Demi dipped into her pouch to give Poppy a token, or 10, of appreciation then hurriedly left to find Scar to share this odd yet intriguing information.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

Darthos was beginning to feel comfortable in the sweltering jungle town. Although the bright sunshine was a constant concern and irritant when any rays found his skin exposed, he was moving about freely under the false name of Darby. Spreading coin always helped to loosen tongues, shut mouths, buy footwork, and hire extra eyes and ears. The "Master" had afforded him with an unlimited expense account and he was definitely enjoying this. Already he had:

Discovered enough on Scar to keep his Master well informed as to his habits, faults, foibles, and favorites, having supposedly eliminated him, which he had not for reasons all his own.

Suborned Poppy into believing he was her friend, and that he would help her find her missing son, Jace, whom he, himself, had whisked away to a safehouse, keeping the boy insensible with mild poisons just enough to induce hallucinations of snakes.

Misdirected Deminatza to help lead her into believing that Scar was back and healed of his dire wounds suffered at the hands of Ophidians who ambushed him when he went looking for his missing son.

Selected, seduced, and was in the process of converting a nubile Papuan maiden, one Chasity, into a vampire like himself to use however he saw fit.

Overall his plans were going well and he congratulated himself as he leaned back in a wicker chair at a corner, out of the way, table at the inn.

He was only mildly surprised, therefore, when Scar (the imposter he hoped!) strode up to him and sat down at the table. "You appear none too happy, milord," he remarked, noting the scowl on his "Master's" face. "Something wrong?"

"Yes something is wrong! That idiot, Poppy, has blabbed to Deminatza and who knows else about you and your activities here. What all did you tell that wench anyway?"

Darthos frowned, moving his hands from back of his head, setting them on the table. "She doesn't know anything of importance... just what I had to say to get her to tell me what YOU wanted to find out. Forget her... she is nothing to us."

"Nothing?! What my sources told me corroborates what little Deminatza said, and then some. Who is the Chasity person you have some relationship with?"

"One of my agents. I am in the process of... transforming her into someone I can better... trust," he explained, smiling.

"You mean turning her."

"Aye, and the process is nearly complete."

"Get rid of her."

"Why? I like her... just like you like Deminatza. I have need of her."

"She will be a liability running around infecting people. The LAST thing we need is a vampire scare to draw attention to the town. Take her somewhere else if you must have her."

"But I... we... like it here, milord. And we will make a good team for you."

'Scar' sighed. "Be discreet is all I say. Oh, and one more thing... Poppy must be silenced. I don't care how you do it, just do it." He got up from the table and leaned over it. "You will perform as I have requested?"

Darthos smiled. "I am your humble servant, milord... as always."

'Scar' nodded and walked away.

Your time is coming 'Master.' One day you will beg me for death.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

The tiny cave in which he rested seemed home to him now. Scar lay upon its cool floor and gazed out its only opening, able to view the concealing foilage draped over the entrance, and just above it, the bright, sunlit sky. How many days he had been here, he did not know, nor did he know how many more he would be.

All of his bleeding wounds, save his hand, had healed completely, but both his legs remained semi-broken. They had been set perfectly, the bones rejoined, but the connecting tissues still needed time to mend and strengthen thoroughly. The hand, well, that was another story. New flesh had covered the stump of his wrist, and the bones were clearly trying to grow back, but that would take a lot of time.

Scar wondered how he could have been so stupid... running off on the word of a woman who probably despised him, into the lair of Ophidians who hated him more, only to be ambushed by assassins. The setup was plain for anyone to see, much less a seasoned investigator, but he had allowed his passions to dictate his actions---something he never did and vowed never to do again. He thought constantly of Deminatza, and Jace, and sometimes Poppy, whom he planned to kill at the earliest opportunity. He had no way of contacting Deminatza, and even if he could, once they knew he was alive, the assassins would return to finish the job and he could not stop them. He needed time to think this thing through, to heal, to discover the identity of his mortal enemy.

He glanced to the small, crackling, fire beyond his feet, where lay two conies, already cooked, on a flat stone which served as a dish. He smiled. His benefactor was still with him, watching over him... not constantly... that was not her way... but enough to make sure his basic needs were met.

Thank you Lady Merci

He then reached for the food, devouring it heartily.

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

She had left Scar, at his apartment in Papua to sleep off his drunken state, to travel to the Abbey. It has been four days now since she has taken her tonic, and her nights had been plagued by the same odd dream. It always started the same, blackness and chaos. It felt as if her body was fluid, whirling around at the center while two entities, on both sides of her, reached for each other, determined to tear one another apart. It was as if she was placed in the center to create some sort of balance, and yet it felt as if she had intruder. There were times it seemed these two entities had two separate faces, other times the two faces appeared to overlap.

The sound of monks chanting brought her to the present. She entered the building and was bombarded by the warm greetings of her friends. Demi greeted each in turn then asked where she could find Father Balzar. One of the monks informed her that he has not been at the Abbey for five days, but left instructions on the dosage for her tonic. She drank it obediently and bade the monks farewell.

On her way back to Papua, she decided to look in on Scar to ensure he was resting well, and not being kept awake by his stomach attempting to eliminate the alcohol he had ingested. Quietly, she crept up the stairs of his apartment and peeked inside. He was lying on his side, his back to her, with the blanket twisted about his waist. She tipped toed to him to pull the covers to his shoulders when he rolled over onto his back causing Deminatza to freeze looking down at him in shock. There, on the bed, had lain her beloved Scaramandine, at the same time, another’s image appeared behind it.

It must be the tonic making me drowsy and causing such hallucinations. This doesn’t make sense. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and looked directly into Deminatza’s eyes. Sleep my dark angel. The suggestion echoed in her mind as she crumpled to the floor.

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

The room was spinning. No, not the room, she was spinning.

The pressure of two entities trying to occupy the same space was suffocating. They try and maim the other, yet fight to gain control, but of what? Deminatza began to spin faster at the epicenter of these two forces. She needed to do something, or else everything she has done would have been in vain.

What was it she needed to do?

Images would flash before her. Two men, faces full of concentration as they hurled spells and incantations at one another attempting knock the other off balance.

Should she know these men?

One man crying out her name as he vanished, leaving only a tambourine with a maroon silk cloth bound to it where he once stood. The sense of loss was overwhelming. She felt her heart breaking. Then another image, but this time it was of her reading a piece of parchment. She watched her likeness weep as she read the first paragraph:

For Deminatza, my love

I know ye shall never be able to forgive me, for what I now tell thee, but I pray in time ye shall come to understand why it had to be done…

The feeling of hopelessness and dread flooded through her.

No, not again.

Again?

The image swirled again. She was cloaked in darkness once more, the two beings pressing against her.

It is too much, I cannot breathe.

The icons of two men flashed before her. One filled her soul and heart with warmth. She reached for him, wanting to hold onto him and never let him go. Then, his face was covered by another, the one filled her with dread. She needed to flee. Deminatza searched desperately, but found no escape. Only darkness.

“You are mine, my dark angel, come to me.” His hands reached out to grab her when she let out a piercing scream and bolted upright in her bed, her sheets soaked with sweat. She looked around trying to remember where she was.

The room was spinning. No, not the room, she was spinning.

Scar · Adventurer Joined: 11 Dec 2007 Posts: 64

Jace, Scar's supposed son by the Papuan tart Poppy, was alive and sleeping in a bed at the healer's hut in his native village. His mother watched over him, seated as she was by his bedside. She kept stroking his forehead gently, over and over.

Marianne, one of the healers, stood by, preparing to administer another draught which might, hopefully, restore his mind. So far, all efforts had been in vain. He still slept fitfully, crying out about snakes and snake-men, and when awake, staring into space with a dazed, faraway, look in his eyes.

Poppy looked up at her. "How long will he be dis way?" she asked, perhaps for the tenth time.

The nurse shook her head slowly. "He is very ill. I have not seen a poisoning case this bad in many years, if ever. I am... we are... all astounded that he is even alive. His body is mending," and then she stopped.

Poppy looked away. "But he will ne'er return to me, will he?"

Marianne stooped to raise the boy's head so she could pour the medicine into his mouth, only a few drops at a time. "That is for the gods to decide," she whispered.

* * * * *

Scar (the Elder, as he had been called on another shard in another time), waited outside the door, sitting on the steps of the healer's hut. This constant feigning concern and devotion to a boy who was not his in reality, was becoming nauseating. He chewed a piece of licorice candy considering how best to conclude this charade...

The boy needed to be kept hidden a while longer, but, according to Darthos, when he met with Demi and two others, a Judas and Jolicia, she seemed to be on the brink of accepting their insinuation that Scar was a fake. So he decided on the spur of the moment to quickly change the focus of the conversation to win her back. It appeared to work, so I suppose it was for the best... he ruminated.

He had sent Darthos to find out all he could about the seer-woman, whom he had been able to identify as Malissin Ariesus, an elf who seemed to come out of nowhere. His necromancer henchman had learned that she was a devotee of some little-known goddess of nature named 'Quaestra Concordia,' claiming she had empowered her to seek out a "woman with blue hair" to warn her of impending danger. Scar had met her at the inn in Papua and felt very uncomfortable around her... Something about her eyes---they looked right through me... He believed she had somehow seen through his disguise and marked him as a fake. I will have to find a way to silence that one, too... and the old half-elf with her as well, should he get in the way...

Darthos strode up to where he sat, bowing slightly. "Greetings, master," he saluted.

"Don't call me that here! I'm your employer, nothing more."

"As you wish, master," Darthos whispered, smirking.

Gods, how I hate him! ...they were thinking at the same time.

"Come, let us go somewhere private to talk. We have much to discuss," Scar commanded, standing up. They walked away a short distance to cast spells which would take them to a familiar haven.

Deminatza · Adventurer Joined: 23 Jun 2012 Posts: 25

“Why can I not see him father? He loves me and I him. Do you not want happiness for me?”

“Of course I want you to be happy. Become a wife and give me many grandchildren. But it won’t be with this man.”

“Please. Give us your blessing.”

“No, Demi, I can’t and won’t allow you to see that man ever again. I forbid it,” Sirrico boomed.

Deminatza involuntarily flinched. She had never heard her father speak to her this way. What could cause him to be this angry?
His expression softened and his tone was tired. “Deminatza, I’m sorry, but you can’t see him. You can have anyone, but not him.”

“Why not? Scar...”

“Don’t say his name, don’t ever say his name. There are things you still don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand. We are always moving from town to town, running away from a man you say is looking for me. It’s been some years now, and we have not seen this ghost.”

“Listen to me. You might not remember, but you nearly died when I found you. This man had people kidnap you. When I found you, they were performing some ritual with you on the altar. You opened your eyes,” he stopped suddenly, his eyes darting to the window.

“Get your things. We have to leave, now!”

Her father’s tone left no room for argument. She grabbed her emergency bag, as her father reached for his sword and shield. Deminatza froze when she finally saw what Sirrico had seen, a hooded figure peering inside their window.

“Damn it girl, move. GO!”

She whirled, ran out the back door, with her father following closely behind. He had instructed her even grilled her many times about this moment. Where they were going to go, where they would meet up if they got separated.

She looked back and didn’t see her father, but also didn’t see the person she collided with. Her items flew up in the air as she fell backwards to the ground.

Stars swirled everywhere, the wind knocked out of her, she still had her wits and knew she had to hurry. Without stopping to apologize, she gathered her items quickly and continued on towards the Jhelom docks. Someone had called out for her, but since it wasn’t her father, she didn’t stop to find out. Sirrico was already starting to untie the boat from the docks.

“Hurry girl!”

Demi handed her items to him and climbed aboard. The wind, thankfully, was working in their favor, but as she turned to take one last look at the city, there at the end of the docks, was Scaramandine II. He stood stock still, his cloak and hair billowing in the wind, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched Deminatza and Sirrico sail away from his life.

Deminatza rolled over to her side, murmuring Scar’s name in her sleep and the memory was once again submerged back into her subconscious.
_________________