/a good morning bump before I go to bed =)


Have fun at work!


-w1nt3r60rn3

Ah! Our precious RP thread!


/bump!

 

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(ooc is that how it works?)))

Glenin found Moryan, and told her of the horror she had seen. Of the children, of the dead. Most were beyond the care of a cleric, most were beyond the ability to be restored to life. Even if restored, the memories of that fateful night would destroy the rest of their lives.


Moryan stood trembling in front of Glenin, as she realized her father was one of those slain. Glenin offered her arms and her shoulder, and hardened mercenary let herself go, and the tears flowed in the name of the innocent lives lost to the horrible, wanton death delivered by the insane.


After a long time, Moryan withdrew. Glenin knew where she was heading, and asked if she wanted someone to accompany her. It wasn’t safe, she said, but she knew her Guildmistress would go alone regardless. This was something she had to do.


So Moryan made the trek again to her small village, to the place she had such tender thoughts of childhood. She saw the destruction, the vileness delivered upon her own people. The Haven that was to be created was gone before it was built. Gone were the happy children, the smiling mothers, the proud fathers. The simple existence of a naïve life was shattered.


The mercenary knelt down, and scooped up a handful of blood-soaked earth. Smearing it between her palms, she swore an oath that day, to visit the same pain upon the perpetrators. Never would they again know peace whilst she had breath in her lungs, and strength in her arms. The war had become personal, and Moryan would see it finished. There was no doubt in her mind who would win, but she grieved for the innocents that would fall victim to the cruelness of the Cult of the Long Night.


With aching heart and soul, she slowly made her way to the inn room she and Caer were currently sharing. She bathed, washing off the filthy feeling, and crawled between the sheets. She lay there for hours before he finally came in, and when he saw her, she beckoned him over. As he climbed in to join her, she buried her face against his chest and let the pain ebb through her. She soaked up his strength, his love as he held her tenderly, brushing his fingers through her hair.


“It will be alright,” he murmured, over and over in her ear. She was silent except for the soft sniffles, and finally, she drifted into a drained sleep, as the cleric cradled her lovingly into the night.

/bump

 

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bump

/bump


<and runs off to find Carrington and drag him back to the boards>

Crispian moved slowly up the long stairs. He ached. Oh God, how he ached! The Royal Physicians had pronounced him sound and whole and bustled him out of the infirmary. So he had come home, as it were.


Tannir helped him the last steps up and into the large, open room, easing him down on the narrow cot. Crispian grunted as he settled and Tannir began to work at the clasps and straps of his armor. The plate was removed with care, and as the under padding came off, the toll of the morning's work was evident.


Large purple-green bruises covered Crispian's back from where the beam had hit him. His fine blond hair was scorched and singed, a ragged uneven helm-shape just the size of his arming cap. His hands were blistered and raw. Even his face had a slight sheen to it from the burning.


"Rest here a moment, Sir, while I fetch some wine," Tannir muttered, shocked at the harm the fire had done. By the time he returned, Crispian was stretched out and sleeping soundly. The squire pulled a covering mat over him and settled him in more, taking up a vigil near the door.


Crispian drifted in sleep, images of fire, smoke, rubble. The fire seemed to close tighter, burning more. He thrashed in his sleep as the smoke-choked image filled his mind. Gibbering terror nipped at the edge of his sense, more terrifying than either a charge of trolls at Excalibur Castle or a glare from Moryan.


The flames clawed at him, no respite from the heat presented except a single, dark opening. He crawled toward it, his dream armor glowing red as he felt his body wither in the heat. The opening loomed larger and finally he was near to it, almost able to pull himself through.


Eyes glowed in that cool, dark space. Cruel, hateful eyes of green that near glowed. Thin, graceful hands beckoned to him as he crawled through the inferno, almost crying from the torment.


"es, grovel for relief and respite, traitor-boy!" a cruel voice hissed. Deepest darkness engulfed Crispian, his mind shrieking in terror and pain.


Tannir leaned against the wall watching Crispian trash under the mat, restless. He crossed himself, praying the nightmare would pass.

 

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The Baroness awoke from her sleep, a cold sweat running down her brow. The smell of the fires, the screaming of the children; the dream was still present within her mind. "Only a dream" she remarked to herself, as she took a deep breath and fell back onto her bed.


A moment of silence, she cocked her head slightly to the other side of her quarters. Reaching over, she sprawled lazily across the bed and drew the sheets back over herself. Yet still, the smell was fresh within her nostrils, the stir and the wake of the inferno omnipresent in her head. Something was not quite right...her fingers, scorched and blackened as if her hand had been thrust into a firepit. She froze, her breathing stopped as an aching pain erupted in her stomach. Was it her hand that brought the fires from the night before, or was it all just a dream?

Carrington cradled Mory in his arms as the night hours passed. She slept soundly against him, but he was sleepless. His mind began to roam over what the Cult had done to the place that would have been Moryan's heaven. It had to have been Albricht. He knew him too well. Basaia had no grudge with Carrington, but Albricht did. What better way to get to him indirectly than this?


Carrington adjusted himself, then kissed Moryan gingerly on the forehead. He then swore to himself that the Cult could wait no longer to meet their end...

 

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