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Loric Syntel..A Bards Tale
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Loric
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 20 Sep 2012
Posts: 101
Location: Southern usa

PostPosted: Sat Nov 24, 2012 2:07 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The small blond female Halfling scurried along the moonlit path in the village of Ashencrosse with great purpose. A familiar scent wafting from her apartment slowed her steps a bit and caused her to inhale the sweet savory smell of the smoked sausage that Loric made for supper. The diminutive girl then regained her fast pace as quick moving feet carried her to the stable door. She skidded to a halt and looked around for any intruding eyes. Seeing no one, Sunny Snowdowns opened the barn door and slipped inside.

“Jimmer?” she whispered loudly, “You here?”

She waited a bit, and after being greeted with only silence, padded her way past the many flanking horse stalls toward the back of the barn. Once there, she climbed the rough wooden ladder leading up to the hay filled loft. She sat on one of the dry, yellow bales and tried to be quiet. But her mind was racing; making her body not sit still. She excitedly rummaged through a dusty pack searching for something, but stopped when she heard the faint sound of a door opening below. She quickly stuffed the pack under some hay and hid…barely breathing.

“Sunny?...You here?” came a quiet whisper from below.

A relieved sounding voice quietly answered, “Up here Jimmer in the loft. Shhhh!”

The young male Halfling deftly climbed the old ladder and pounced laughing into the hay beside a grinning Sunny Snowdowns.

“Aint funny ye knoe Jimmer!” scowled the female.

“Then why ye grinnin’?” returned Jimmer with a look of confusion.

“Cuz ye funny lookin’ maybe!!?” shot back Sunny shaking her head back and forth quickly.

“Am Not!”

“Is so!”

“NOOSA!”

“Yup ye are!”

The two stared at each other quietly before a grin formed on both their faces simultaneously.

“Did ye bring the syrup Jimmer?” asked Sunny as she pulled her pack from under the hay and rummaged. She forgot the small argument like it never happened.

“Yuppers!...and it be real good stuff too…it’s got honey AND strawberries in it at the same time!!” announced the sandy haired Halfling smiling.

Sunny grinned wide as she produced two rather large, juicy sausages and handed one to Jimmer.

“Put the jar between us so we can both dip real good!” reminded Sunny.

“Why we hidin Sunny? We in trubble agin?” Jimmer managed to say, as his newly dipped sausage glistened in the moonlight that filtered in through the loft’s open window.

“Big trouble Jimmer!” moaned Sunny. “And I ain’t lyin this time neither!” She took a large bite of her sausage that dripped with the sticky concoction.

“Wut happened? We get caught stealin a pie again?” asked Jimmer with grease running down his chin.

“Nope! Worse! It be about pirates…real ones too!” growled Sunny in between bites. “Well, this pirate shows up by the gates the other day and I toll him te get out of town we doon want no pirates around here.”

“Wut he says?” questioned Jimmer still chewing slowly.

“He said he goes where he pleases…and he called me shorty!!!! answered the Halfling indignantly. “Imagine!…He was the same pirate the worked on those ships keepin’ score of all that bad weed Loric mentioned. And he thinks he kin waltz into Ashencrosse and spy on us like nothing happened?!” Sunny continued incredulously. “Bloody stupid as well as evil that one! Hard to believe that with all his fathers seed…that HE made it!”

“So wut did ye tell im back?!” queried Jimmer.

“I told him that I would wonder who’d be shorter after I kicked both his shins out!” grinned Sunny.

“Good one!” beamed the small male. “Bet ye’d ‘ave ‘im by a hair!”

The two had a real good laugh and finished their meal by licking the grease and honey off their fingers.

“But there’s more.” continued Sunny. “I had to tail him and make sure he was going away. So I followed him in the moongate to Britain. He met this repulsive looking mousy man in the tavern there. They both commenced to fuss over a scroll that the pirate unrolled on the table.”

“A scroll?” Like some magic paper?” asked Jimmer.

“I think so!” informed the female. “And I think it was important to some plan theys be hatchin. Soooo…” Sunny paused a second and rummaged in her pack. “I nicked it!!” Sunny grinned as she produced a rolled up old parchment tied with red leather.

“Kin I see it?!” asked Jimmer excitedly.

“Sure ye kin…but ye gonna be disappointed.” added Sunny as she tossed it to him. “It ain’t nothing special. It’s just a dumb ole blank parchment. But Lenore said it could be invisible ink!”

Jimmer snorted. “Ha! Ain’t no such thing. If ye used invisible ink, no one could read it!”

“Yup! Your right! Silliness!” concurred Sunny as she watched Jimmer carefully unroll the document.

So the two sat together quietly looking at the blank scroll by the half-light the moon left. Slowly, as the minutes went by, the smiles left their respective faces. Curious puzzlement replaced grins and their eyes widened in disbelief. The blankness that was evident a moment before, began to be replaced by shapes and letters. Ominous lettering, bold and black, was being generated by the moonlight that fell upon it.

Never saying a word, the two looked away from the parchment and into each other’s eyes simultaneously. The expression worn by the two was apparent as large grins appeared. They saw a curious mark on the map that appeared. It filled them with adventurous excitement instead of what should have been something else.

A red ‘x’ marked the spot. But if the two could have read the letters below the mark, their grins surely would have been replaced by basic, terrifying…fear…
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Loric
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 20 Sep 2012
Posts: 101
Location: Southern usa

PostPosted: Fri Nov 30, 2012 8:05 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Under a gloomy and grey sky, two mounted figures meandered slowly past the watchful eyes of a flock of crows. The alarmed caws were warning cries to stay away from the unidentifiable carcass being shared by the carrion birds. The ground around the travelers was rough and uneven. Old bones were scattered ominously along the path and jagged rocks periodically pushed through the ground like granite teeth. Graves, both marked and unmarked, dotted the trail on either side of the intruders. The two were unlikely companions. The male, deliberate and cautious, was dressed in the leathers of a ranger. The other, a female, wore clothing that barely covered her white skin; painted to resemble a mime.

“Are we there yet Handsome?!” asked the woman as she bounced in her saddle excitedly.

“Quinn,” answered the ranger, “Quiet a moment… I think I hear something.”

“I’m always quiet Rye!” Quinn shot back quickly. “I’m a mime!” She grinned at her companion rather sweetly.

“Damnedest mine I ever saw.” retorted the man, “You haven’t shut up since we left from the cottage!” Rye wore an amused expression as he eyed her across from him.

“Harrumph…Fine!” returned Quin. “I can be quiet whenever I want.”

“Now would be nice.” muttered Rye

“Shhh!” answered Quinn grinning. “You’re talkin’ way too much to listen!”

The ranger sighed and shook his head a bit exasperated, yet his eyes clearly held some affection for his smirking companion.

Rye Lockman was once again on the trail of the elusive rogue monk Castilius. Boston grey, his employer, had promised the Merchant’s Guild that this outlaw would be apprehended and brought to justice. Quinn Morgan, an expert hunter in spite of her eccentricities, was asked to accompany him; as the road traveled was said to be cursed with peril.

Jolicia the mage had secured a journal while defeating the beast called Corgul a few weeks past. It had a few cryptic references to the dungeon called ‘Wrong’. It was a foul place. Once a prison, but long abandoned, and overrun by things best left unnamed.

Rye dismounted and checked the trail for a signs of activity. He studied the ground and listened for the slight disturbance he heard earlier. His tracking revealed two sets of human prints leading to a courtyard cemetery enclosed by a crumbling stone wall. Rye closed his eyes as his well-tuned ears strained to find the sound again.

“Hear anything Handsome?” sounded the chipper voice to his left.

Rye’s finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just you Quinn.” spoke the ranger.

“Ahh..That’s good then… Isn't it?!” grinned the woman. “I'm not any danger to us!”

“That would be a matter of perspective.” drawled Rye.

“Huh?” asked Quinn.

“Nevermind,” returned Rye as he remounted. “Our trail leads through that cemetery ahead. Let’s go cautiously and watch my back.”

“Ohh…right!” nodded the mime. “But I’ve been watching your backside right along! It’s quite nice!”

The ranger couldn’t help but smile. She always made him smile. Quinn was irascible and irreverent; her defense for scars that ran deep. The girl found many ways to hide herself from the pitfalls of the world. The paint, the glasses, the flirts, the lightness of her attitude all covered up the insecurities that gripped her. Yet Rye saw her clearly; beyond the greasepaint. He was witness to the frailty that lived inside this dangerous and well trained warrior. Rye lived a similar lie for ten years; paying dues he never really owed. He felt a connection to her…and affection as well.

“Well make sure you tear your eyes away from my arse once in a while.” Rye responded quietly. “There may be some trouble below.”

“Below?” asked Quinn. “Below what?”

Rye glanced at her and then pointed to an opening in the rock cliff at the end of the cemetery. It was a dark and ominous stairway leading down that seemed to beckon them in deathly silence. Rye questioned what on earth he was thinking coming here. The smell coming from the gaping maw was sickening. No one in thier right mind could ever be happy at the prospect of entering such a cursed place.

Quinn’s eyes followed his finger and spied the hole. A grin formed and she began bouncing in her saddle excitedly. “YAY!” she exclaimed happily. “Finally some face to shoot! Come on slowpoke!”

Rye shook his head again as he watched her slip down the stairs and into the darkness. The ranger trailed with a bit more trepidation than was apparent in Quinn. A new feeling was suddenly thrown into the mix. Along with the apprehension from this prison and the affection for Quinn…there was now also…worry.
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Harlequin
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Joined: 07 Feb 2010
Posts: 140

PostPosted: Sat Dec 01, 2012 11:07 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

It smelled like death and rot beneath the mountains of Lhoria. Quinn kept her bow leveled, a silver mechanical arrow notched and cocked as she trained it around the first corner of the narrow cavern passage. Behind her, she knew that Rye had quickly closed the gap between them. She didn't have to look back. It was just the way he worked. No guessing. Just breathe, and trust that he was there.

As she took the first corner, she quickly let off the lever of her arrow and released the tension. “Lizards.” She sighed, stopping short and cursing under her breath as she reached for a different arrow. The soft warmth of Rye's oiled leathers nudged her shoulders from behind, as her abrupt pause caused him to bump into her. “Not now, Handsome, I'm tryin' to kill Lizardmen.” But she smiled despite herself, careful not to let him see.

A volley of arrows followed as the two archers worked as a single unit, felling the vile lizard kin, and foul-smelling trolls that got in their way. Quinn paused as she notched another arrow and drew back the bowstring. “What are we looking for?”

Rye let fly an arrow into the face of a hungry troll, and Quinn couldn't decide whether to feel flattered or peeved that he'd stolen her move. “A man with a big axe.” He groaned as the troll took a swing, landing a giant meaty fist in Rye's midsection and doubling the ranger over in pain.

“HEY!” Quinn fired a final arrow into the eye of a lizard, and leapt between Rye and the troll. She grabbed one of the heavily-geared silver arrows from her quiver, cocked it, and let it fly into the face of the troll, exploding his brain from the inside and splattering the mossy stone wall behind him. “YEAH!” she screamed, her hands balled up in fists at her sides. “That's what you GET!”

She spun on her heel, helping Rye to his feet again and looking him over for injury. “Are you all right?” Concern creased her brow.

Rye half-smiled. “Are you worried about me?”

Quinn narrowed her eyes. “Only cause you hafta keep me alive too.”

“Sure.” He smirked somewhat triumphantly.

Quinn lifted her bow deftly, notching an arrow pointed directly toward his eyes. “Duck.”

Simultaneously, he dropped to his knees and Quinn released the bowstring. The arrow struck deep within the chest of a dark mage who seemed to be guarding an entrance beyond. The mage, unphased, advanced and let fly a hail of fire that crumpled Quinn to the ground.

A guttural cry escaped from Rye behind her as a volley of arrows flew over her head, striking the mage with such ferocity that he fell backward, the arrows standing out of his chest like a gruesome standard. Rye frantically helped Quinn to her feet, cleaning a cut on her arm.

“How very sweet.” The voice hissed from behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know whose voice it was.

“Castilius.” Rye uttered through clenched teeth as he stepped forward and ushered Quinn behind himself. But no sooner had the name crossed his lips than a bolt of energy struck him square in the chest. The barrage of spells that followed was horrific. Rye and Quinn braced against one another, firing arrow after arrow toward the fallen monk, but most were deflected away with the simplest movement of his hand. The pair did their best to bolster and heal one another, and the frustration began to show in the demeanour of Castilius.

Was it only her imagination that his eyes had shifted colour and form? Quinn narrowed her eyes, and whispered to Rye barely loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of spells that crashed around them. “This mage has gone over.”

Rye looked at her curiously as she pulled two silver arrows from her quiver and handed one to him with a wink. “Aim for the face, Handsome.”

Their movements were synchronized, as they drew back their bowstrings and let fly twin arrows that buried deep in the skull of Castilius. His flesh sizzled slightly against the silver shafts, confirming her suspicions. The monk collapsed in a convulsing heap on the ground.

“He's gone over...” Rye stated flatly with a bit of a dumbfounded expression.

“Mhm.” Quinn grinned broadly as Rye cut the ears off the charred head of the monk.

He arched a brow. “What are you grinning at?”

“I found it!” Quin tilted her head, her painted expression fading as she gazed farther into the room behind Rye.

“Found what? Any other time I can't shut you up...”

“The man, with the big axe.” She nodded to the huge and hulking form charging toward the doorway.

“Ah rubbish....” Rye sighed and pivoted to draw his bow on the Executioner.

“Piece of cake, Handsome.” Just keep your eye on that axe.

It was the easiest of the three battles, but easily the longest. The Executioner was a monster of a man, and deadly accurate with that axe. Gradually, his swings slowed, as his body became riddled with arrows. And when he collapsed, Quinn did too.

“Quinn?!” Rye stood over her, frantically examining her for wounds.

“Just catchin' my breath, Handsome.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Nothin' to worry about.”

“You don't want me to worry about you?” Rye watched her narrowly.

Quinn opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, unsure of how to answer.

“It's all right. I told you, Quinn, I'm not going to leave...”

She nodded once and hopped to her feet, dusting herself off. “Let's both leave, why don't we? We got what we came for.” With half a skip, she trotted away again toward the entrance.

Rye smirked and shook his head, then loped easily after her as they raced toward daylight.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

~Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Loric
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 20 Sep 2012
Posts: 101
Location: Southern usa

PostPosted: Mon Dec 03, 2012 7:37 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble with them pirates now Jimmer…Loric toll me so…Ain’t lyin’ neither this time!”

The Halfling girl spoke while hanging upside down from a large oak tree near the wooden palisade surrounding Ashencrosse. Her arms hung down limply as her legs held her to a thick, gnarled branch. Her face was turning red from the blood rushing to her head.

“So ye ain’t in trouble no more for stealin’ that strange map from them creepies?” asked the Halfling male Jimmer, who was suspended upside down on another branch facing her.

“Nope!...Ain’t!...Wasn’t anyways…Couldn’t prove it!...Wasn’t me!” Sunny grinned after the avid denial. “Ye know Jimmer…if ye stay like this too long ye head blows up and ye brains falls right out!”

“Don’t neither!...Woon happen…Ye lyin this time!” argued the sandy haired male.

“Am not!...S’true!

“Noosa!...Ain’t!”

“YUP!”

“NOPE!”

The two upside down Halflings stared each other down until both of their small, reddening faces broke out into huge grins.

“Ye still a dope Jimmer!...Ain’t smarter than that acorn!” Sunny grinned and began to swing a bit, waving her arms as she went.

“Least I know ye head doon blow up frum hangin’ in a tree!” answered Jimmer as he too began to to swing and sway.

“Do too!” accused Sunny.

“Do not!” returned Jimmer.

“YUP!”

“NOPE”

The momentum of the two arguing Halflings brought them dangerously close to smashing heads. This caused them to stop jawing and slow down the magnitude of the arc their swinging bodies had generated. When both got gravity under their control once more, the reality of their near collision somehow struck each other as funny. Grins turned to giggles as both Sunny and Jimmer struggled to hold onto their respective branches. The two wrapped arms around their jiggling bellies to try to quell the sudden, uproarious outburst.

And so it was, that for the first time in months, passing travelers were treated to something other than a sense of uneasiness as they navigated past the Village of Ashencrosse. Instead, they heard the uplifting sound of happiness in the form of genuine laughter that reverberated through the tree-lined paths.

...And for the first time in months, they wore smiles instead of nervous frowns... as they made their way north to Luna…
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Loric
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 20 Sep 2012
Posts: 101
Location: Southern usa

PostPosted: Sun Dec 09, 2012 8:31 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The blond headed man quietly swore under his breath as he gazed upon the creature that stood forlorn on the bleak hillside. The air was heavy with an unnaturally cold mist that chilled the man to the bone. He was sure now. This creature was definitely the source of the sorrow. But what was the answer? What was the cure? How would he know it? He recalled the circumstances of his journey to this place and time. He did so to piece together some logical reason for this unusual occurrence…and also... to simply hang onto his sanity.

Boston Grey had approached him a few days ago bearing a letter from an old acquaintance. Most likely it was a favor owed; as this was the natural order of how these things worked.

“Loric…I need you to look into a small matter.” announced Boston to his associate Loric Syntel.

“A small matter?” Loric questioned suspiciously, “I’ve heard THAT before. How small?”

“Well..I don’t know.” answered Boston. “ Duane is a rancher in the farming village just outside of Skara Brae. He is known as a sensible man…yet the content of his letter makes no sense at all. He claims the whole village is under a spell of…” Boston paused a moment as if trying find the right word, “sadness!”

“You want me to go find out why someone’s sad?!” asked Loric. “It seems a bit outside of your usual commissions Boston.”

“Not just someone….Everyone!” added the older bard. “Look, this man helped us when we really needed livestock during the plague. I owe him at least a visit. I’d go myself but I am still refereeing the merchant’s daily urges to kill each other.” Boston sighed slightly and smiled a bit when Loric nodded his consent to go. “Thanks Loric…I’ll owe you one.”

Loric could only chuckle recalling that he had heard THAT before as well. “Very well, I shall leave in the morning.” announced the blond bard.

It was not a long trip and Loric recalled the weather not becoming dreary until he approached the village. The sun had been out on the road from Britain but was replaced by drizzle and rain as he entered the small farming community. He remembered passing some pitiful residents on his way to Duane’s ranch. They were all lifeless…lethargic. Some would just begin crying for no apparent reason, while others were lying on their sides staring out in fetal positions. There was an air of depression and overall despair hanging over the town like a dark cloud. Loric could feel its grip and realized there was something afoot here.

His meeting with Duane was burdensome. It was interrupted by sudden spells of weeping and forgetfulness. Loric managed get one lead which proved to be his only course of action. The ranger Chadwick, in between blubbering and sniffling, swore the source of the sorrow was coming from the Great Stag. The creature they called Bravehorn was rarely seen, but had been spotted standing on a barren hill east of the village. Loric decided he would go there straight away as the villagers were in no condition to be of any more assistance.

The directions given by Chadwick the ranger were surprisingly accurate. As the bard got closer to the rise, the bleakness inside of him grew. He found himself wiping tears and losing faith in himself. Twice he almost gave up and turned around. It was too hard….too difficult to bear. But he willed himself along and finally was at the foot of the hill. At the top stood a large white stag, and although magnificent in stature, its head was lowered and it seemed not to care it was being approached.

The horse would go no further. Loric dismounted and began to climb the slope. The bard sang quietly an elven song of joyousness. The melody helped to choke down the unbearable sadness that strove to bring the man to his knees. He couldn’t approach any closer due to the plethora of emotions that emanated from the beast. Loric’s song kept him from falling into a black pit of utter despair.

Great pain…hate…worry…sorrow…despair... accosted his spirit in raw unchecked sequences. Finally, he fell to the ground and began weeping. He wept for the world…and for no one. He cried for nothing in particular… and for all that existed. The bard shook and tried to sing the elven words again. The song allowed him to find some of his own will buried under the barrage of hopelessness. He began to back off...in a burdensome crawl. Each foot of distance gained away from the beast returned a little bit more of him.

Finally he could think a bit better. Spurts of rationality fought through the disorder and began to form into something that made sense. Loric knew he was over his head as he headed away from the hill and the valley of the Great Stag. The bard had many talents, but communing with beasts of the wild was not one of them. But he also knew the answer to this enigma lay inside that beast on the hill. Loric would have to find help to unlock that secret….and he had a good idea who to call.
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Aurelia Bretane
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Joined: 23 Apr 2011
Posts: 88
Location: Ashencrosse

PostPosted: Thu Dec 13, 2012 10:45 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

She felt the weight of it, the moment she set foot off the ferry. The skies of the farming village outside of Skara Brae were murky and grey, and a pall hung upon the village like a shroud. Each face they met was grim, the eyes sunken and sad. And each looked more hopeless than the last.

“It's all too much, Loric...” Aurelia turned to look behind her as he followed. “These people are sufferin', in th' worst way.”

The bard nodded, his expression a somber mix of sorrow and determination. He carried his lute cradled carefully, as if it were the most precious commodity he could muster. She wouldn't be long in learning why.

Each step was harder than the last as they passed the tiny farm houses. Children peered from the windows, pale spectres of the cheerful spirits they should have been. Noses pressed against the panes of glass, eyes empty and utterly bereft of the joy of childhood. Aurelia's eyes brimmed with tears, and she swallowed past the dull ache in her throat.

Without fanfare, a pure, clear strain of music pierced the darkness that threatened to consume her. A spark flared inside her, and it held the sorrow at bay. The Countess paused, as she recognized the tune that took form within the chords that permeated her, and bolstered her against the plague. Loric stood two paces beside her, his blue-eyed gaze locked hopefully with hers. He strummed the familiar elven tune that she'd heard once before, the joyful song strengthening her resolve.

“Thank ye, Mo Chridhe.” She smiled faintly as the chords struck upon her heart and lifted her spirits.

But Loric did not smile. His expression was pure resolve, as his intent gaze urged her forward. He did not spare a chord for himself.

Onward they went, through the haze of sorrow, black as night. It seeped into every crack in the soul, and sprouted roots unbidden, which spread beneath the surface, crumbling determination like weeds that grow the stones away.

The song held out, but the chords seemed now so horribly far away, as they finally reached the clearing where stood the Great Stag, surrounded by the spirited does who had bound themselves to him. The grief here was tangible, as the does parted to allow Aurelia's approach. She had communed with a great many creatures in her life, but never had she been in so regal a presence. Leaning heavily upon her wildstaff, the Countess lowered her head and took a knee.

The Great Stag called Bravehorn watched her a moment, as if to determine her purpose and intent. Then he, in turn, lowered his head, crowned with antlers, head to her. At the first contact of her touch upon his forehead, an image blazed to life within her mind. Three men, whose faces looked vaguely familiar, though fire could never burn out of her where she had seen them before. Then, curiously, rage began to take the place of sorrow. It burned through her veins and roiled in her gut as she watched the three men enter a cave behind a waterfall. She seethed as she watched them pass through the cave, carrying boxes and crates, and cross into a hidden valley beyond as they emerged from the darkness. A strange symbol emblazoned upon the breasts of their robes was oddly reminiscent of something she could not place. And the hatred increased tenfold with every breath she took, until the force of repulsion threw her backward, and she landed amongst the brambles as the sorrowful eyes of the Great Stag pierced her own silver-eyed gaze, the pale blue having long ago drained from her eyes. She trembled, overwhelmed by anger, and pierced by sorrow.

Aurelia struggled to stand again, leaning upon her staff, but the world greyed out, spun sideways, and went dark.

It could have been moments or hours she spent in the darkness of her sanctuary. Here, where the sorrow could not touch her. Where anger could not hasten her heart. When she opened her eyes again, they had again taken back their pale cornflower hue. The golden-haired bard held her cradled against him, some distance from where she had fallen. His lute was carelessly cast upon the ground at his feet, and he sat rocking her gently.

“Loric...where did he—“ she trailed off as he shushed her quietly.

His expression shared equal parts of worry and sorrow. “You've done enough. Did you see? Did he say?”

Without his song, she felt as though she'd drown. She managed only a nod.

“Hold onto it, try to remember. It's time we got you home.”

As if she could forget. Communion with such a spirit could never leave a soul unchanged. Quietly, she stood, leaning against her wildstaff. And as the pure strains of Loric's joyful elven song wove themselves with hope through the accursed forest, the two made their way back home to Ashencrosse.
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Loric
Journeyman
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Joined: 20 Sep 2012
Posts: 101
Location: Southern usa

PostPosted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 5:53 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Everything suddenly made sense. The mystery source of the sorrow that plagued the Great Stag was undeniably revealed in a matter of seconds. The road to the elusive answer was not as simple as the astonishing solution itself. The two witnesses exchanged surprised glances as the incredible revelation took shape. Neither would have guessed a few days ago this remarkable turn of events, but both knew exactly what had to be done. Together, without a word, they quickly went about the task at hand.

EARLIER THAT DAY

Loric nodded to the Countess Aurelia and passed her the small telescope he had been using. She closed one of her grey eyes and looked through the glass with the other. She spied the waterfall that Loric had been watching and nodded.

“Aye Loric, that t’would be th’ one I saw in the vision. T’ be sure.” She confirmed. “An’ there should be a cave entrance b’hind it.

“Leave it to Rye,” returned Loric quietly. “You describe the terrain and the rangers been there.”

“What d’ ye think we should do next Loric?” inquired Aurelia.

Loric studied her a moment before answering. His fingers took the time to affectionately slip into her hair, tangling the locks a bit. She looked tired to him. The communing with the anguished Great Stag had taken its toll. Her frame was wracked with unchecked rage and other emotion. The experience left her weak and almost bereft of will. Her bravery inspired him but he wanted her to rest and recover. This was a notion she was having none of. Aurelia had that stubborn dedication to duty that all special people possessed. Apparently, this duty carried over into the animal world as well.

The bard spoke quietly again while his thumb lightly whispered across her eyebrow. “This is where you wait here while I go look inside.” His words sounded wishful.

“An’ ‘ave the pigs begun te fly too?” returned the Countess with the utmost determination. “For that would have te be the case for me to leave ye side Loric!” Her words sounded final.

Loric sighed playfully. “Sort of thought that would be your take.”

“Very astute of ye Loric.” Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the last few seconds of attention his soft fingers administered.

“Let’s go then,” offered the blond bard. “Quiet as we can now.”


The two moved down from their observation post and slipped behind the waterfall into the anticipated hidden cave. They waited till their eyes adjusted to the dim light occupying the rocky enclosure. The floor was sandy and sufficiently muffled their steps as they moved deeper in. Lorics blue eyes darted quickly in every direction warily seeking anything that may be waiting to surprise them.

“Loric..” whispered Aurelia, “There’s light up ahead.” Her graceful hand pointed as she spoke.

Loric nodded and took her hand squeezing it gently. “Stay together love.” He drew a rapier and led her toward the brighter opening ahead.

The two exited the cave and found themselves in some sort of hidden valley. The trees were dead with branches that seemed to grab at the sky like wooden skeletal fingers. The air was thick with some foul sulfuric smell and there was no sound. It was deathly quiet. There was a narrow uneven stone walk that wound through the trees and led to a rock wall that hid the area from the outside.

“Aurelia…Listen…What do you hear?” inquired Loric.

Aurelia stopped and tilted her head to the side. Her ears strained to pick up a sound. Suddenly, her expression became curious.

“Chanting…Loric..I hear chanting.” Her eyes locked onto his curiously.

Loric nodded in agreement. “So I’m not crazy.” The bard grinned playfully at her. “Nice to know!”

Aurelia half smiled and followed as the bard began to feel the rock barrier. “It’s coming from beyond this wall.”

Loric and Aurelia’s eyes both widened as his hand went through the rock. It was an illusionary section of the stone. They exchanged glances before shrugging and disappearing into the wall.

The two found themselves in a hewn stone corridor. Torches set at four foot intervals lit the hallway. Ornate friezes and carvings adorned the walls. Much of the artwork depicted octopus shaped heads with tentacles intertwining around the different scenes. It was similar to the cultist carvings Loric had seen in the small farmhouse in Yew.

The chanting was becoming louder and they could see robed shapes in a large room ahead. The two slipped into a small room that bordered the large chamber. Curtains separated the spaces at a doorway. Loric and Aurelia peeked out to see the dark robed figures gyrating and dancing around an altar. There were embroidered octopus heads on the breast of the dark robes. The sleeves contained sewn tentacles. There was a hooded man standing at the altar. He was reading and chanting over a wicked looking ceremonial blade. It was evident…something was to be sacrificed.

“Loric…Look over here…” Aurelia quietly said.

She was studying some crates piled up on one of the walls in the small vestibule. “I heard something near those boxes.”

Loric approached and scanned the many wooden containers until he too heard a scraping noise behind one of the crates. Quickly the two moved the front box and revealed the source of the disturbance. Aurelia’s palm went to her mouth as she tried to cover the sound of her sharp intake of breath. Lorics eyes widened.

Everything suddenly made sense. The mystery source of the sorrow that plagued the Great Stag was undeniably revealed in a matter of seconds. The road to the elusive answer was not as simple as the astonishing solution itself. The two witnesses exchanged surprised glances as the incredible revelation took shape. Neither would have guessed a few days ago this remarkable turn of events, but both knew exactly what had to be done. Together, without a word, they quickly went about the task at hand.

It took them a few more hours to quietly work their way back out of the hidden valley and arrive at the base of the Great Stag’s hilly repose. The despair was debilitating. Neither Loric nor the Countess could approach the beast further than the bottom of the hill. Both collapsed with tear-filled eyes and shoulders shaking from the magnitude of guilt and remorse arrowing through them.

Loric began to sing the words of the song of Joyousness…He directed it toward Aurelia, who struggled to access the small container they had carried here. She slowly forced her fingers to pull on the small wooden peg holding the door of the cage closed. Finally… with great effort… she succeeded and the gate swung open.

Loric managed a smile as the baby white stag tumbled out of its confinement. It fell but popped back up on its unsteady little legs. It shook the tiny puff of its tail and bleated.

The sound carried up the hill before falling on the ears of the Great Stag. A plethora of new emotion charged through the dull bleakness. First Loric felt disbelief melt into the sadness. This was followed by raw, unfiltered hope... which burned away some of the utter despair.

Aurelia must have felt the same, for functionality began to return. She urged and encouraged the tiny one up the hill. It looked at her a moment then glanced up and back to her again. Its large brown eyes blinked once and it began to race upward. It fell twice but ignored the failure and continued happily toward its parent.

Another wave of new feelings erupted from the Great Beast. It was joy and relief this time that knocked the two witnesses to the ground. But, instead of tears, they both laughed. They laughed so hard they cried again. Loric begged it to stop as his belly began to hurt . Aurelia laughed harder each time he asked it to cease. It was all perpetuating.

Then…just as they were recovering from their giddiness….the emotion changed to happiness. Just plain happiness and contentment embraced the two of them. They could only smile, exchanging glances between themselves and the Great Stag who nudged the little one at his feet. Loric and the Countess shivered at the purity of the experience. It was without pretense…without agenda…it was pure, untouched love being felt. The fog lifted and the sun shone upon the hill as well as the surrounding countryside.

Loric and Aurelia’s hands found one another. They absently let out a joint sigh as they watched the large and tiny animals wander off together. And just as they thought they could feel nothing more satisfying, the Great Stag turned and stared down the hill at them. Its large brown eyes sent one last emotion that shot through the man and the woman. Loric and Aurelia clearly accepted the gift that brought tears once more.

It was gratitude…just pure...heartfelt… unadulterated….gratitude…
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 05, 2013 3:16 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The blond bard looked on as the pretty bardess carefully wrapped his bleeding forearm. He hadn't noticed the seriousness of the deep puncture wound until seeing the copious trail of blood that was apparently originating from under his sleeve.

"I can do this Lenore...it is not necessary for you to do dress this wound," complained the uncomfortable man, "I am quite capable of..."

"Hush up Boston!" said the bardess as she gingerly treated the wound, "You act like you have never had someone care for you before...It isn’t like I’m going to leave this to you. I’ve seen how you treat wounds!" She smirked a bit as she glanced at him.

Boston stiffened as she wrapped his wound that was rendered by the nasty swamp lizard. His reaction was not only from the pain of the arm cut....Boston clearly was feeling residue from some older and deeper wound.

Watching her twist the clean bandages into place reminded him of a time when he was alone and uncared for. He recalled struggling to make ends meet on the city streets. It was the day his cold and dreary world ended …due to a chance meeting over a discarded meal.


----20 Years Ago---


They had bumped heads trying to rummage the only trash crate on the back porch of the inn. When they found themselves grasping the same stale loaf of bread, a small tug of war ensued. She was not letting go of the only thing she would have eaten in two days....and neither was he.

"Let go!...I had it first!" he remembered saying in his most intimidating voice. "I don't WANT to hurt you!" he growled.

That's when he first noticed how serious he was being taken. She shook her head, grinned and pulled harder!

"I mean it...I am not fooling with you...I'll hurt you...LET GO!" threatened the unemployed singer as he gathered for a mighty yank.

The woman's full lips then curled into a coy smile and with an expression that read, 'if you want it so much...have it!’

She let go while he was in mid-pull.

Boston’s eyes opened wide as he was suddenly flying backwards off the small wooden platform. Luckily there was a statue to stop his fall...granite too! The bard slammed hard into the stone effigy of some revered king and lay sprawled on his back with the loaf of bread rolling away.

His tasty meal stopped at the feet of the two women standing in front of him. He squinted his eyes commanding the two shapes to form into one...one that was picking up HIS bread. Unfortunately, the bard was rendered immobile by the blow and could only move his mouth.

"Drop that...before I kill you!" he managed to get out with hardly a slur.

She was looking down at him with a bit of sympathy...till he made that threat. Then her shoulders started to shake from the giggling that overtook her. She burst out more every time she glanced at his pathetic form. When the slap of bird turd landed on him from the crow perched on the statue's shoulder, she fell to her knees in uncontrollable laughter.

The bard squinted at her. "I'm warning you...Once I can move..!""

This last warning sent her into convulsions. She now lay on her back holding her belly trying to prevent a gruesome death by hysteria. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe.

Finally she regained control, stood up, ripped the loaf apart and dropped half onto his unmoving stomach. His grey eyes took her in as she chewed bread and quietly considered him. That's when he saw her...and she felt suddenly familiar. Warmth filled him as he watched her eat HIS bread. Gods...She was beautiful...and unflappable as well.

“You have a name madam?” the bard quietly uttered.

“Lenore…and you sir?” inquired the brunette woman

“Boston….Boston Grey…at your service,” he managed with a wince.

Lenore stifled another laugh and once again looked at him with sympathy. “It seems I might be at your service for a little bit Milord…at least till the swelling goes down…”

Lenore helped him to his feet and, to this day, has never left his side.

Sometimes…there are events that we try to forget… and others we cherish. Still there are some that can only be described… as life changing.
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 06, 2013 4:21 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The sound of squeaking iron indicated to the pitifully chained souls that the rusty cell door was opening. Armored boots passed by barely-living thieves and murderers who shared this small and forsaken piece of hell on earth. The lit sconces carried by the hooded men prompted the prisoners to hide their light-depraved eyes and crawl closer to the darkened walls. The jingle of chain shirts quieted as the shadowy group stopped in front of a gaunt and bruised man lying in his own filth.

“That’s him,” whispered the prison guard to the slimmer two men. “I’ll unlock him, but then he becomes your responsibility.”

“The two men nodded affirmably and, after the shackles were removed, dragged the lifeless form out of this den of hopeless eternity and into the fresh air above. They each draped an unmoving arm about their shoulder. The man’s bare feet dragged absently along the ground as the trio made distance from stone keep.

“I think he’s dead Teremir,” announced one of the two quietly.

“Nay Gillahir, not dead,” answered the other. “His heart still beats, but the rest of him may be quite beyond repair.”

“Well good then,” added the first. “Our orders were just to bring him back to the Heartwood alive."

“Aye and alive he will be… though barely,” affirmed Teremir. “I wonder why they want him?”

Gillahir merely shrugged and continued to help carry the pathetic man past the gates and into the star filled sky overlooking the forested outskirts of the city.

“You know we never question our orders… or ask why Teremir,” responded Gillahir matter-of-factly. “They said bring us Loric Syntel the bard and so we comply."

Teremir nodded quiet agreement and soon the three shapes slipped into some nearby woods and vanished...like wraiths in the night…
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PostPosted: Wed Aug 07, 2013 4:24 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Loric Syntel, the blond headed musician, walked slowly through the empty Ashencross manor house. Each room held some pleasant memory that spurred him to continue this bittersweet tour. The home he shared with the privateer Captain Davis Moore hadn’t had a soul in it for almost a year now. Davis hadn’t set foot in it apparently for more than two years. The last word the bard heard on the Captain was he found paradise with the love of his life, Kate Cervantes.

The home still had ‘Her’ fingerprints on it. The decorations and furniture screamed ‘Aurelia’ in their good taste and finery. Where she was... he hadn’t a clue. The whole town was empty.

Loric grimaced at the loss of a year he suffered at the hands of his cruel jailors in the Den. He was unjustly thrown inside its walls by some rich merchants who felt compromised by the untimely killing of Creedy. Loric admitted taking the man’s life in response to Creedy’s senseless murder of Loric’s first love Molly. It was a fair fight. Some would even say self-defense; although Loric did provoke him into it. The trial was a farce…more a lynching than an example of justice.

Six months of beatings and solitude steals a part of a man’s soul. It takes away hope, memory and rational thought. Lorics’s strong will to live was the only thing that kept him alive.

He vaguely remembered the elves dragging him out of there and depositing him in the safety of the hidden valleys of Heartwood. This was achieved apparently through Boston Grey’s considerable influence. It was in Heartwood that his soul was slowly returned to him. It took months of viewing their world and listening to their song to begin to live again. His demons one by one were virtually chased from him. They left due to the constant daily appreciation of basic simplicities. Love was all around…enormously apparent in ways he never experienced in any other place. All seemed pure, unconditional and with no hidden agendas.

Slowly he learned forgiveness of all who ever hurt him, including his spiteful jailers. Through forgiveness came serenity, clarity and a renewed faith in life. This rekindled his desire to live once more. His memory began to return with each passing day.

His music became stronger and soon he was holding his own when the elves celebrated life in song. They were masters of manipulating notes and chords to effectively move emotions from one spectrum to another. Their lyrics were always ‘just right’, painting a perfect picture in the listeners mind of what was being projected.

Then one day they pronounced him healthy enough to return…and so he did.

Tonight he had played some tunes in the Salty Dog Tavern for a few of the patrons. It was quite enjoyable to have nothing on his mind except a song and some good company. A few new friends were met including Arturus and his sister Renna who are involved with some trading company. There was a nobly dressed woman named Sofia who Arturus was intent on making smile.

An old friend, the elven woman Faeryl was there. She seemed divided by some unknown issue. The songs seemed to add some cheer. There was Zoe, a friendly enough woman with a bright smile.

The man Rithien was a curious sort. He seemed full of some drama involving the company and strange books. There is some dark side to all of that mischief. Loric was relieved he was out of the adventure business.

Loric thought of his ward Sunny and took comfort that she was in Britain with Boston and Lenore. He knew she was safe there. He made a vow to see her soon and catch up on things.


The bard took a final look around before reaching for the door handle. He would stay on the island for a bit and leave this manor house locked. After exhaling a final deep breath he turned to leave.

As the large oak door closed behind him, he swore he heard her fading laughter once more… echoing through the high rafters.
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 08, 2013 3:32 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

It didn’t take Boston Grey long to interrupt Loric the bard’s journey into frivolity. Just when the blond bard was starting to enjoy his life of total irresponsibility, the senior bard summoned him to the playhouse. It seemed Boston had a ‘favor’ to ask.

Loric could hardly ignore the call after all the things Boston had done for him. But in a strange way, Loric almost felt they may be approaching ‘par’ on the mutual favors. After all, Loric had also sacrificed much for the cause.

The singer was really starting to have a bit of fun in his life. Last night he met an actual governor; the governor of Vesper in fact. The new Halloween tune he had written and played for the Vesper merchants struck a chord with her. He was more than happy to accept her invitation to perform the song in Vesper at some future date.

This chance meeting came about during the caravan stop the bard visited in Jhelom. Many merchants were there displaying their wares. It was well attended by many; some traveling substantial distances to sample the varied merchandise.

The singer chuckled at James the Bunnyman pawning a snake oil as some preventative medicine. Loric purchased a bit at half price but thought it might be better to save it for an insecticide. It looked suspiciously poisonous.

Arturus and Renna were also there doing public relations for their merchant company. Fearyl looked a bit less worn than the last time he saw her. Still though, she was battling some life trauma that apparently needs more time to heal.

Loric taught a young girl how to cross her eyes. She was quite pleased with the lesson and showed most everyone the new found skill during the course of the evening.

All and all it was a pleasant night. No drama to wade through. No crisis to solve. No deadline to meet.



But now the bard sat across from Boston Grey and cautiously waited for the end of his fun to commence.

“How are you feeling Loric?” asked the older bard with genuine concern.

“I’m feeling quite good Boston,” replied Loric. “I trust there is no city emergency that will send me away from my new found immorality.”

Boston smiled and shook his head. “No no….I wouldn’t think of pulling you away from whatever dens of inequity you are inclined to frequent.” Boston’s tone was a playful. “All I have is a small favor to ask.”

Tenting his fingers, the younger bard waited for Boston to continue. Loric didn’t reveal what he was thinking; but internally, his eyes rolled into his head. ‘I’ve heard THAT line before.’

“I have received an unusual request from a noble in Britain. He’s a landowner that wishes to sell a few pieces of property but has come across a very unique problem.” informed the older bard.

“You wish me to take up selling real estate?!” blurted Loric with a laugh. “You need a good closer!!??”

Boston shook his head again. “No. I need you to visit the properties to solve the issue as to why they aren’t selling.” Boston paused a few moments as if trying to present the right words. “All buyers seem to back out at the last moment.”

Loric shrugged. “Isn’t that a buyer’s prerogative?” mused Loric. “Surely you don’t mean for me to go strong-arm potential customers.”

“Not at all Loric.” answered Boston. “I want you to look at the property and find the root cause of its undesirability.”

“You want me to become an appraiser?!” laughed Loric. “Boston, maybe the property is just not in good shape…or it’s overpriced. I can’t see how my opinion will make much difference.”

Boston looked a bit embarrassed as he uttered the next few sentences. He was almost apologetic in his demeanor; but still, it was apparent to Loric he was serious about the request.

“Loric, the places won’t sell because of a peculiarity,” explained Boston.

“Roaches?” smirked Loric.

“It’s haunted Loric.” Boston shrugged. "I want you to find it’s ghost.”

The two men just quietly looked at each other for a few moments until Loric sighed and finally spoke.

“Give me the information.” said the singer resignedly…
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2013 5:16 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The swarthy fellow sat across from the blond headed man and perused through a pile of official looking documents. He scratched his cheek and studied one before shaking his head and looking further down the pile. The man, John Carvelli, was a barrister hired by Lord Pincher in N’ujelm to handle his out-of-town real estate transactions. A relieved smile appeared as the lawyer slipped one particular page to the top of the pile.

“Ah…Here it is Lord Syntel. This is the property in question. It is a farm near Skara Brae.” The man spoke with perfect diction. “My client wishes to sell it. Unfortunately, there seems to be some supernatural disturbance occurring each time a deal is eminent. The buyers become uncomfortable…and the property doesn’t close.”

Loric Syntel studied the perfectly groomed man for a moment before speaking. “Firstly, John, please call me Loric...unless the criteria for being a lord are defined by ownership of a worn cloak and a used lute.” said the singer in a playful tone.

The barrister chuckled a bit and tilted his head. “As you wish Loric.”

Loric tapped his lip absently as he read over the deed and the documents detailing the failed contracts. “Have you personally seen this ‘abnormality'?” asked the bard curiously.

John shook his head. "No…I can’t say I have. It seems to occur when the buyers are alone looking over the property in final inspection.” answered the lawyer. “It’s almost as if the entity doesn’t act until the deal is eminent. It’s very strange indeed.”

“What is it they see? “inquired the bard. “Surely there must be some description rendered.”

The impeccably groomed man sighed a bit. “They complain of a cold chill, coupled with warnings that appear in their heads. More like ‘pictures’ than words.” continued the lawyer. “The clients all see horrible images of their own doom should they continue with the sale.”

Loric processed the information for a moment before continuing. “Is anyone living in the property now?”

“Yes. The farm is being run by a widow named Mary Mullens. She and her two children have been there for years.”

“And has she seen anything disturbing?” Loric asked.

“I asked her that myself.” answered the barrister. “Mary and the kids have never seen anything out of the ordinary in all the time they have lived there. They are a very nice family.” John exhaled sadly. “I feel sort of bad they have to be displaced...but Lord Pincher doesn’t want to keep the property any longer."

Loric read the man as being sincere. The lawyer’s compassion for the widow endeared the bard a bit. It was unusual to see a barrister with a conscience.

“Unless there’s anything else you can tell me John, I’ll take those directions and poke around the farm.” Loric replied. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll take a peek.”

“I will be staying at the inn here in Skara for a few weeks.” offered the Barrister. “You can contact me there if you require anything.”

“Very good John,” answered the bard. “I will inform you of any findings.”

After the two men parted company, Loric found himself riding east out of Britain. It was the complete opposite direction from the farm. The bard was versed in many varied subjects but considered himself an expert on few. ‘Ghosts’ were one of those fields he might be a bit weak on. But the singer was smart enough to know when he needed help.

This was Aurelia’s area of expertise. He wished she was within arm’s reach, but he had to accept she was drawn to some unknown flame. He hoped she didn’t burn her wings.

That left the bard another road to take. It led north just outside of Minoc. He would visit the gypsy camp in the forest there. Loric would consult the woman who, a couple years ago, unselfishly risked life and limb to deliver him and his associates from certain death.

It was time to look up Thrade the Gypsy Witch once again…


Last edited by Loric on Mon Aug 12, 2013 2:10 pm; edited 3 times in total
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PostPosted: Sat Aug 10, 2013 8:52 am Post subject: Reply with quote

Loric studied the tall woman was she ran a graceful hand along the wooden doorway of the old barn. She was dressed in a flowing violet dress embroidered tastefully with gold thread. Her long, coal black hair hung straight to the small of her back. She was even lovelier than Loric remembered; the years hadn’t diminished her beauty in any shape or form.

Thrade Arnimane was of the old gypsy blood and revered in her tribe as a queen. The Gypsy Witch possessed magic handed down through generations. Armand, her attendant, said that Thrade could harness hidden power found in the natural items of the land itself. The Gypsy Witch had chosen to manipulate gems, such as the sapphire she wore around her neck. The darker the gem, the more power it wielded to her... as well as expended from her. The power itself came directly from bearing the blood of the Avatar according to Armand.

The bard leaned against the doorway with arms folded; patiently watching her work.

As she walked around the structure, the slim fingers of her right hand caressed the darkening sapphire encased in the locket around her neck.

"Loric, there definitely is a presence here,” announced the gypsy. “If you place the back of your hand on this wall you can still feel the cold residue”

The bard touched where she directed and sure enough, felt a slight chill. “Can you determine anything about the entity?” asked the singer curiously.

Thrade shrugged a bit. “I sense no real evil or malice yet a curious residue of emotion remains here.”

Loric listened quietly as she explained herself. “I sense much anger but tempered with protectiveness,” she continued, “Much like a dog that marks its ground.”

“Is there a way to commune with the presence?” asked the bard.

Thrade nodded. “Sometimes it is possible. That would be the next logical course of action. Something unfinished may well be holding it hostage in this realm. I will try to determine if that is the case.”

“Is there something I need to do to help?” asked Loric.

Thrade shook her head. “No. Just stand over there quietly and remain very still.”

Loric walked to the area Thrade indicated and sat in the hay with his back against the wall. He watched as she positioned herself in the center of the room and grasped her sapphire. Her dark eyes closed as she uttered some words that were not legible to the singer.

Suddenly Thrade stiffened and, at that precise moment, the barn's temperature dropped drastically. Loric saw the breath leave his mouth as a white vapor. The gypsy’s eyes rolled into her head and a slight shimmer could be seen in the darkening corner of the barn. It didn’t last long, and after a few moments, the temperature rose and the gypsy relaxed.

“What happened Thrade?” inquired the bard with a bit of concern. “Are you alright?”

The Witch looked over at him and managed a slight smile. “Yes…I am fine Loric. But there will be a slight problem determining the reason the presence still remains.”

Loric’s head tilted curiously toward her. “Pray tell Milady.”

Thrade paused a moment before announcing a fact that could inevitably complicate the investigation.

“Loric…Your ghost can’t speak….
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 11, 2013 10:59 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The dark haired gypsy woman concentrated her efforts to commune with the restless entity. The blond man sitting across from her wore a look of astonishment as the small wooden circle their fingers shared began to move on its own. Their combined breath trailed up like ghostly vapor in the cold of the old barn. The work-around plan seemed to be having some success.

Thrade the gypsy witch had resurrected an old and little used method of talking to the dead. It involved some letters painted onto a wooden board and a small wooden circle that Thrade referred to as a ‘focus’. The hope was that the entity could spell out what he could not say by using the two of them as mediums.

Loric the bard was not in his element. He felt a bit uncomfortable as the cold surrounded him. His concentration on the task at hand wandered a bit. His thoughts drifted to Mary Mullins, the woman who lived and worked on the farm with her two young children. Mary was gracious to the two investigators yesterday when she offered them a warm lunch. The woman knew little of ghosts and restless spirits. Mary claimed she and the kids never witnessed anything out of the ordinary. She seemed sincere but did point out the irony of something so bizarre giving her and the kids time to make other arrangements.

Mary also smirked a bit at the irony of feeding the very two that could solve the mystery and speed up her eviction. In the end, she was resigned to leave it all in the hands of the gods. Loric liked her and clearly saw how the barrister could feel compassion for her plight.

The movement of the focus brought the bard's concentration back to the present. Both he and Thrade’s fingers shared the wooden object and were now being escorted around the varnished board as if on their own. Thrade had warned that time would be limited due to the exhaustion caused by the draining connection to the entity. She would try to make the best of it with her questions.

When asked for a name, the focus stopped at all the letters that spelled out ‘William.’ When asked why, there was a loud angry moan. The farm implements hanging on the wall shook and the word ‘welcher’ was picked out.

Thrade’s gem around her neck was growing lighter. A sign her power was waning. As she struggled to break the bond another word was being communicated. It seemed to be a last effort on the part of the spirit to shed some light into its frustration. The two mediums' hands were again being sledded around the surface on their own. When the focus stopped, and the barn’s temperature returned to normal, the two investigators were only mildly surprised to see the last word communed to them. It made some sense to Loric but he was unsure of how at the moment.

The final word communed by the spirit to them was 'Mary'.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 11, 2013 8:38 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

The knock on the door to the Mullins’ farm was answered by a cute little girl with a tooth missing. It was seven year old Leedra Mullins who quietly stared up at the blond man at the door. Loric smiled warmly down at her and asked if her mother was home.

“Yeth” she announced. The girl didn’t move but looked up at the bard with a cute toothless grin.

Loric waited with an amused expression for her to get her mother, but the little girl just looked up with that grin.

“Wait!” said Loric excitedly. “Leedra! What’s that on your face?”

“Huh?” uttered Leedra a bit confused.

Loric then gently pulled her nose and pretended to pull it off. He showed her his thumb that was tucked between his fingers. “I got it now! Look! I got your nose!” The bard wriggled his thumb much to Leedra’s delight. The girl squealed happily and ran off just as her mother came to the door.

“Oh hello Loric,” Mary said. “What brings you over this evening? Did you find some news?”

Loric nodded. “May I come in?”

Mary stepped back and held the door. “Of course, please…sit at the table there and I’ll get some tea.”

The singer seated himself while she ran to the kitchen. He patted his vest and felt for the parchment with the notes he had taken. Mary returned soon with a pot of hot tea and began to pour.

“It is so nice to have company once and a while,” She exclaimed. “We have so few visitors.” Mary smiled warmly and filled the cups. “So what did you find Loric?”

“Well,” the bard began. “We think we can give a name to the entity now.” Loric watched as Mary sipped her tea happily. “The ghost is named William.”

Mary’s cup crashed to the floor startling Loric. Her face turned white and she brought the back of her hand to her forehead. Loric rose quickly to prevent her from falling off her chair in a swoon. He gently held her shoulders keeping her steady till she patted his hand indicating she was alright.

Loric reseated himself across from her and watched worriedly. “Mary…Was William your husband?” The bard spoke very gently.

Mary could only nod and dab her eyes with the lacy napkin that was sitting near the tea setting.

“I’m sorry I had to discuss this with you.” The blond man shrugged apologetically. “Can you think of any reason why he would use the word ‘Welcher’?

Mary again shook her head.

Loric sighed and let her compose a bit before continuing. “Mary, what happened to William?”

Mary spoke between dabs. “My husband was a good man. I loved him dearly. Leedra was just born when the orcs staged an uprising. He did his duty and went with his militia unit to quell the nasty things.”

Loric listened quietly as she shared the painful memory.

“He never returned to me.” She continued in a trembling voice. “The militia captain said he died saving two others but the injuries were massive. It was a head injury so grievous that it took off his jaw and half his face. “

The bard frowned and couldn’t help displaying a bit of a sympathetic wince.

Mary took a deep breath and exhaled. “They wouldn’t let me see the body. They said it would not be good to remember him that way. They buried the dead that day in a Yew cemetery that has since been tainted. The dead walk horribly. I have never even been able to even visit his grave.” she sobbed quietly.

Loric considered her silently as she cried. The bard felt awful making her relive this unpleasantness. This woman’s only luck in life seemed to be bad. She somehow keeps paying dues she never owed. Loric felt prompted to help her relocate if this matter was ever resolved and the property sold. Boston could just donate a bit of the Playhouse’s funds her way.

The bard stood and was about excuse himself to let her grieve without a blond audience when she spoke again. He quickly reseated himself.

“You know what the ironic thing about this whole mess is Loric?” she uttered.

“What’s that dear?” offered Loric.

“William planned on buying this property before he went to war. He had the gold and everything! In fact the day before he was to report, he said he would see Lord Pincher and secure the property.” Mary paused. “In case he…well…couldn’t return.”

Loric looked puzzled. “So what happened to the gold if he didn’t get to use it on the purchase?” inquired the singer.

Mary continued wiping the tears from her eyes. “I assume the orcs stole it.” she sighed. “But they would surely have had to take some time!” Mary continued to elaborate. “You see…he had this place where he hid his most valuable things. It was a hollow in the heels of his boots.” Mary smiled at the memory. “He was so proud of that hiding place. We would go dancing and he said if thieves accosted them, they would never find the valuables.”

The blond bard sat back in his chair tapping his upper lip thoughtfully. He listened patiently to the poor widow until she was finished venting. He then rose and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry for all this Mary.” His tone was genuinely caring. “I will depart now with your permission.”

The woman quietly nodded.

“I have but one more question before I leave, if you could indulge me.” added Loric.

Mary looked up and him and bravely nodded yes.

Loric looked down at her with steady blue eyes and asked the question.

“Mary….Can you show me on the map where William is buried?”….
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