/OOC - Sory Kelvyn! I did not mean to slight you but I just couldn't remember everyone who was there the next day at work when I was trying to get that in!

 

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Tis ok, I figured ye were just to drunk anyways....<smiles>


/cry

The chair was high backed, unpadded, and recently cleaned and oil. The table, a single massive cut of mahagony wood, also gleamed of recent cleaning. The chamber was otherwise nearly bare of adornment. Dangling from high chains, lanterns lit the room to near daylight brightness, despite it being deep beneath the ground. A ceramic stand glowed with coals upon the table.


D'Vena, cleaned and gowned in gossamer silk, glided into the chamber, a satchel in one graceful, pale hand. Her eyes danced lively, but her face was still frozen in the end-motion of a laugh. Sanity was barely evidenced in her gaze.


She sat in the chair and unpacked the satchel, removing two rolled objects and a small, silver figure with hair of gold. The first roll of padding she gently opened to expose more worn figures: a taller, thinner figure of a man with gold hair, carrying a hammer; a highlander, unmistakable for the kilt worked of fine stones. Both figures she cloaked with tiny cloaks bearing the Coat of Arms for the Red Lions.


The second roll opened to reveal small vials, each filled with different colored fluids. The shock each lightly, holding them toward a lantern. With a satisfied nod, she set each down in line.


Selecting the hammer-wielding figure, D'Vena toyed with it. It twirled in her fingers for a moment and then see set it down. "Beyond my reach just yet, little Whitethorne."


She took the highlander and considered it next. "Pig-farmer, you are in line, fear not that I would forget ye or the slight ye gave me."


Lastly, she picked up the newest figure, tying about it a miniature cloak of a tower with a bold, blue chevron beneath. Her finger stroked at the golden hair, so finely wrought. Yes, her little crafters were good, if even more evil than she. She grinned as the metal caught the light.


"Oh, the little seducer. Such a wicked boy to be paid wickedly." She hummed while erecting a wire-framed tripod above the burning coals. A catchy tune once popular with the farming community that used to be beyond Predwyn Keep, a community destroyed just a few short years earlier.


She continued humming as she set out her trappings, affixing a small platform to her wire frame and setting this new figure on it. The vials she uncapped and set in line, ordered for how she would need them. Then she sat back and looked at it all with hooded eyes. She focused herself, stilling her own energies, focusing her thoughts.


"Come onto me, Oh Bringer of Mirth;

Beckon to your servants Call,

Reveal to me the Path, He Who Laughs,

Show onto me Thy Spirit Awl,"

Her tone was flat, detached, even as a wind picked up in the room, howling louder, but disturbing nothing.


"My Soul and Being I pledge,

For the Power you can Impart,

Push this Pawn upon the Edge,

And in Fall, Tear it Apart."


Her fingers peppered the coals with liquid on each line, hisses spitting into the air. Her eyes blazed brighter and brighter, her mouth stretching into a more hideous twist as she went.


A voice not quite her's came forth from her lips.

"I hear my new made Maidens Call,

And bend the Being Toward,

But yet I cannot give her All,

Unless the Pawn Begs her Reward."


The wind died, the lanterns guttered and went out. D'Vena collapsed into the chair, her head upon her breast. She had been so close, so close.


But still, she thought as she smiled and levered herself to unsteady feet, more was almost as good as all. She smiled as she shuffled out of the room.


Even a stone tower can only survive so many assaults.

Arguyle rode through the gates of his estates in Camelot and handed his steed over to the stablehand.


"Take care of him lad." said the Highlander.


"Aye, M'Lord. Tis good to have you back home M'Lord." replied the young man.


Arguyle smiled warmly at the lad. He had been employed by Arguyle for some months now and had always been faithful. Perhaps he would make a fine Lion. Then as quickly as the thought came it was gone and Arguyle was once again focused on the task at hand.


He entered through the kitchens knowing they should be fairly empty this time of day so that he could make his way to his study without much fuss. He had been on sabbatical for nearly a month and a half and now since his return almost 2 weeks ago he had been in the embroiled in the battles in Odin's Gate, Emain Macha and Hadrian's Wall. It seemed that there was no end in sight to the fighting. He longed for peace but steadied himself for war.


Reaching his study he entered and shut the door behind him. Sitting behind the large oaken desk he opened a drawer and pulled out parchment, quill and inkwell. Then he set to writing.


------


My King,


I pray this letter finds you in good health. I have been away for sometime now and upon my return I was greeted by your loyal servant and one of those responsible for foiling D'Vena's plan to assassinate you, Crispian Pontiff, Seneschal of St. Crispin's League.


The lad was acting very strangely and spoke often of D'Vena's malice and ill-content toward me. I asked the lad how he would know such things and he burst into mad laughter and fled. I fear that the witch has placed a hex on him and that if she is not dealt with straightaway that he may suffer permanent damage to his soul.


I beseech you as your friend and loyal servant to exercise your will in this matter and have the young Seneschal purged of this curse by the highest ranking of the clergy and your Master of Sorcerers. Perhaps together they can drive this demon or foul magick from our young friend.


Your friend,


Arguyle MacFadden

Lord High General

Order of the Red Lions


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With that Arguyle neatly folded the parchment and dripped hot wax onto the fold. Then he placed his stamp on the wax. The mark of the Order of the Red Lions.


His task done the Highlander turned and looked out of the window. Looking down upon the gardens he thought about how good it felt to be home. Thought of his friends came to him and he smiled broadly. His friend Moryan had married another friend while he was gone. Glavian was a good man and he could tell that he loved Moryan.


Perhaps if he had not been away so long.....


Nay he would not think of such things. He was happy now for the first time in a long while.

With great mirth and noise, they entered the city, carrying the Midgard banners that had recently been atop Caer Benowyc and Caer Hurbury. Crispian was awash in pride, a rare indulgence for him even in the best of times.


Lomas had, quite suddenly during the raid, asked Crispian to take command. With a certain hesitancy, he agreed. He had not thought to do much more than raid Sir Leftie's vault for the rams they would need at Benowyc, but he thought he could handle the burden.


The battles had been well ended. The forces, advanced at the Mile Gates in the frontier as well as the main body, had done so well. Brisk, easy work. The young warrior was all smiles and cheers for his mates.


Ye Mug was a welcome sight, and even the large mug of tea was acceptable, although it drew many scowls from seasoned warriors. He was in mid-swallow when it hit him, sharp as an arrow and blunt as a troll hammer. Eyes squeezed shut in pain as the amnesia spell snapped like a twig against the sudden onslaught.


Crispian's hand grasped a cord about his neck and yanked forth Ayslyn's charm, wrapping a fist about it. He held it to his lips as he murmured the Psalm the bible had flipped open to. "I waited for the Lord...I waited for..." he gasped, eyes wide, trembling. Still holding the crystal, even as the mounting cut into his palm, he grabbed tankard and drained it to the dregs.


"More," he gasped to the barkeep, slapping down a gold coin, "and then even more." He drained the new mug in a long swallow. The ale burned, a liquid fire coursing down his throat, but it also numbed his mind.


The visions surged forward again, but different. Jashen, again with broken arm and bloody; Asotrem fallen in battle with a river drake; Oakleif and Mirashta fallen from Pealiaghs; Darnyk, dead from Pikemen; friends and family, dead or wounded, and Crispian always sitting on the grass, sword sheathed, near them, helpless.


The second mug went down easily, as did the third, and even the fourth. Those who had mocked his tea order watched aghast as the young warrior, so recently smoothly commanding a raid, drank down ales like a Troll.


He looked up, looked about the room. "We're all dead," he muttered, and stumbled toward the door, passing out into the night.


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Still bemused at the manner of it, Jashen none the less was enjoying being set free. The elf had been clear gone without a sign when Jashen got out of the cell. Asking no questions, he had slipped from the castle and made directly for the guild quarters.


Sprinting up the stairs, he shook Tannir awake. "Sorry, lad, but I need to get word out. D'Vena's free." Tannir paled at the words but fetched parchment, quills and ink for the letters that would need to go forth.

 

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Crispian stumbled through the dark streets, half blind with pain. The endless images of situations where he had been helpless continued to batter at his mind. He bought more ale, attempting to seek the relief of obliviously passing out. Four taverns, eight tankards. Finally, weaving and stumbling, he found a travelers’ lodge and took a room. He carefully removed and stored his armor, then curled up on the cot.


His mind berated him, the elven stone comforted him as he clung to it. He so did not want to be alone, but could not think of who to go to. Who had he not failed? Who had not been battered or killed under his command? He wept bitterly thinking how often friends and companions had fallen aiding him or fighting with him. Sobs wracked him as he cried pitifully, grateful none could see him, and those who could did not know who he was.


Then he thought of Tobyas. He had failed him, too. Slinking off like that in the pre-dawn hours and leaving him in that dreadful tavern. COWARD! He screamed at himself. A worthless coward, craven and dishonorable. Worthless, deceiver, seducer!


He balled himself up against the wall, eyes filled with terror. “I’ll be good, I can be a good boy. I can.” He almost beg for mercy, almost cried out for relief. The cool weight of the elven stone against his signet ring stopped him. He raised his balled fist to his mouth, stone inside and ring against lips. “I --- won’t ---- give ---- in,” he said through clenched teeth and braced for the next onslaught.

 

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Constantine, King of Albion, friend of Arguyle MacFadden, stood reading the letter he had received from the man.


"So she meddles even now?" thought the King.


"Guards!" he called out.


As the guard entered the chambers he instructed him to carry word to the Chief Dungeoner that the witch was to be isolated and bound until her execution which would be set for tomorrow. He had had enough of the woman and he now would do what should have been done long ago.


He then called the Captain General of his personal guard to his side.


"Find Crispian and bring him back here. Take him to the Cardinal and have them rid him of any demons that may be hounding him. Then have the Master of Sorcerers divest him of any ill magicks. We must help him." said the King.


The Captain General saluted crisply and set off to his task.


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As Crispian lay balled up in the corner of his room he heard a loud knock at the door. Then another knock and a shout.


"Crispian Pontiff! Open the door in the name of King Constantine!" came a deep voice.

Hearing the pounding on the door, Crispian's eyes get wide. The booming voice. The sound of soldier. He cowered for a moment. The King? Was he to be tried for all his failures? His knighthood, given by Oakleif, removed? The League destroyed?


He slunk toward the window, guaging the drop, and lept, speeding into the night.

 

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Ayslyn chuckled as he watched D'vena cast the spell. "Oh dear. She's meddling with some dangerous forces. You have to admire her courage, or her stupidity."


*****


Moryan and Glavian woke that morning to find a note laying upon their blankets, closed with the green willow seal.


Your exile is well know to me. However Crispian and all those responsible for D'vena's capture are in danger. She is free and hiding in a house in Lyn Barfog. Prepare yourselves. Should I learn more, I will inform you.


Ayslyn Greenwillow


*******


Arguyle wasn't sure when the note, sealed with the green willow mark, appeared on his desk. He broke the seal and read.


D'vena is free and in Lyn Barfog. She plots revenge on all who were responsible for her fall. You and Crispian most of all. Crispian is still suffering from her curse. He doubts himself and will be fearful of most anyone. Do not let any of your people remove the necklace he wears until the spell is broken. It is all that is giving him a chance to fight the curse.


Ayslyn Greenwillow, Rhiannon's Chosen, Champion of Justice.

 

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Bursting through a doorway, Crispian stopped. The world was confusing. His thoughts raced around like a Lurikeen on fire. He couldn't focus on his surroundings at all. It was a tavern or something he thought. He stood there, dazed.


A scar faced saracen stepped from behind the bar and approached, thinking at first to help this poor, drug-addled soul. Then he recognized him. A cruel sneer spread over his face as he motioned to a lurk hulk of flesh. "Kizial, find somewhere safe for this young knight." He lifted Crispian's chin and looked into the wide eyes, dilated pupils flashing back torch light. "Like the basement," he said with a sneer.

 

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