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[Silent Poet]

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Poet lay floating skyclad in the bubbling bath in the Garden. He had sealed the door to the room so that none could enter.

He had been researching this spell for months now.

It was time for a trial run.

He closed his eyes and started chanting in gaelic, and willing the 10 whip scars on his back to open freely. Slowly he taps out a steady rhythm on his HeartStone. The runes on the back of his hands start glowing a pale blue.

Then he lifts his athame and methodically slices a pentagram into the palm of each hand.

The stone in the foundations of the Garden groan as all the ley lines in the structure flare to life a brilliant green.

Briefly the pulse in his HeartStone falters, and then there is a deafening roar and explosion.

Poet awoke hours later wedged against the door to the baths cradling an object.

As he looks down he screams a gaelic oath, "a bhidse!"

Poet almost drops the item, but stares at it disbelief. It is his father's drinking horn that was fashioned from his mother's skull.

Tears slowly run down into his beard as he remembers the time that in his arrogance of youth he had returned to his clan during an especially bad winter.

The monastery had banned him for what they had called his wicked ways. The rumors had something to do with a visiting Mother Superior and three of her handmaidens.

He had entered the village of Portmore, and had offered to work to get warm clothing and food.

His father had him arrested on sight.

He had built a crucifix in the town square and Poet after having been stripped of all but his kilt, had been chained and tied to it.

For a fortnight, Hamish Kinley had come into the town square and dared Poet to bring forth his ungodly powers of magery by repeatedly slapping him with the drinking horn.

After the first week, Poet had caught the fever. His mind was consumed with conflicting images as the fever poured through his body.

At the end of two weeks without food, and only the water one of the lasses had brought him during the night he had reached his limit.

That morning when Hamish hit him with the drinking horn, an explosion blew Hamish back across the square.

Poet was free of the timber and chains and rope.

He stood there in his kilt, unseen winds whipping his long red locks wildly. His eyes were glowing a deep dark crimson.

"Hamish, ye are a fekkin' òinseach. Ye dinna ken tha' forces ye hae disturbed." Then with a screaming oath in a language that has long been forgotten, engery, power, flame, ice, wind, waves rolled out from Poet. Every man, woman and child in the village were instantly struck down. The only survivors were Hamish and Angus, Poet's brother.

The Crucifix was burning, engulfed in a black flame.

Poet staggered as the cries of the unjustly slain assailed his mind.

Dropping to his knees he cried out, "mo thruaigheort! Woe unto you Hamish for forcing this from me."

He fell to the ground expended as he sent his personal flame out to all the heartfires to bring them back.

He woke days later in stocks to his father relieving himself on him.

"I hae banished ye once already, ye bloody demon, befould my lands no more." Hamish hit him once more with the drinking horn, then stormed out.

Poet blinked a few times and then there was Angus.

"Hugh, can ye walk?"

"I can bloody well walk oot o' here."

He staggered from the village weaving a spell about the village tied to only him.

Poet blinked and realized he was holding his mother's skull.

He stumbled from the baths to his personal rooms in the Garden. There he collapsed on the floor before making the comfort of the bed.

There was no way to know how much time had passed before Cat was gently shaking him.

"Poet, are ye oki?"

He stood up adjusting his kilt and the drinking horn rolled across the floor.

Cat gasped, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Aye, tis."

"Poet ... Hugh ... this thing you embark upon. It will mean your death."

"Och, me love, I canna do anything else but this. Somewhere oot there, me son, Padruig is wi'oot his da."

"But ye canna take on entire clan without your magery."

"I can bloodly well try."

"Poet ... Hugh ... Shug .. I canna be a part of that."

"I ken tha' me love. I toss yuir shoes from tha' house"
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"When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell." - John Dryden

[Cat Lyxen]

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*Cat watches as her shoes disappear from the house, she turns and looks into Poet's eyes knowing nothing will ever be the same again*

"If I should stay
Well, I would only be in your way
And so I’ll go, and yet I know
That I’ll think of you each step of my way"

"Bitter-sweet memories
That’s all I have, and all I’m taking with me
Good-bye, oh, please don’t cry
’cause we both know that I’m not
What you need"

"And I hope life, will treat you kind
And I hope that you have all
That you ever dreamed of
Oh, I do wish you joy
And I wish you happiness
But above all this
I wish you love"

"I love you, I will always love you"

*Cat picks up the clothing that she has thrown around the room. As she walks by Poet she turns and wraps her arms around him*

"We will always be the best of friends and you know I will forever love you.
drinkin buddies we are and whenever ya need me I'll be here."
She winks at him and walks to the door of the room.
She turns once more and says ," I hope you find yer son , I know he must miss you very much, yer a good Papa bear."

*she slowly walks out of the door and quietly closes it*
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'I'll end with an edit to Ditto's post since she obviously doesn't grasp the man code.......................having your sister entertained by another gentleman gives you clearance to entertain their sister without retribution while taking care of mom leads to a blood fued which can only end in death" Gnarlug