Sierra Juent: Sound Tracks
-
"The First Track: Echoes" -Pink Floyd
(( Click "Echoes" For post soundtrack music))
I look around the city, around the land, and at the people, and I suddenly see everything. I think of what Kara did, and I understand, although I do not agree with her methods.
Something needs to change in this land. It needs to change in the people.
She tried to rid everything of the corruption that is surely eating away at us all. But she did so at the point of a sword. I hate what she did. I despise it, and it angers me. But it is also tragic, because of the truth behind the why of it all. That in the end, she was right, but perhaps we were all too ashamed to see it. To afraid to do what needed to be done. But I can never condone that she tried to bring about change at the point of a sword. That she attempted to bring about renewal through destruction, and it is that destruction which frightens me even more, that scares me that others will do the same, but in different dress, under that of a hero, or a savior. Sitting back apathetically will ensure this, and it cannot happen this way. I cannot allow it to happen this way.
And as I realized this, I realized my betrayal.
As I have loved Finder, I realize that while at some parts I wanted to stop Kara, that other parts of me, those rooted in my faith should not only support her efforts, but should encourage this. That rebirth, and reinvention at any costs should be encouraged. Maybe I misunderstand Finder’s faith. And perhaps that is what bothers me most of all.
I see how someone tried to make things better through tearing everything apart. I realize how those who see themselves as “good” and “righteous” responded in kind. None of us are blameless. We are all at fault. Simply because, the answer stared us in the face all along. That answer is what could have ultimately saved Kara, and saved us all.
Compassion.
Tolerance.
Forgiveness.While sometimes violence must be combated with violence, we must never always see this as the only answer. We must see it as the last answer, after all others have been exhausted.
I need to do better. I see through Kara what is wrong with everything around us, and how I was apart of it. I see where she was guilty, I was equally so.
I see that she will leave a legacy, and part of that is me, and my actions henceforth.
I must do better, as must we all.
History shows us that once in a while, such a great tragedy occurs that it leaves a people fallen. It also shows that it can bring them together, that it can push them up, and make them something more. Something greater than what they were.
We can all be better. We must. We can be something truly great. And we owe it to her to try. Otherwise, it won’t be long before despair, the belief that change can never be achieved, unless by force, will have another walking down Kara’s path.
And that must never happen again.
-
The Eleventh Track: “These Boots are Made for Walking – Nancy Sinatra
Mary stood at the doorway to Merrick’s room holding a silver tray in her hands, a faintly floral smelling vial perched atop. Pausing to stare at a drooling and empty-headed husk of a man, Mary studied him impassively. Merrick’s head struggled to hold itself up as a long liquid strand of saliva dripped from his lip, threatening to splatter down onto the already spit soaked shirt he was wearing. Sighing deeply at the scene, Mary briefly attempting to summon up some sort of feeling for the situation, perhaps remorse over her actions or maybe even a dose of pity. However, she couldn’t feel much of anything really, not even a hint of sadness. No, she felt nothing more than a feminine disgust over the state of Merrick’s shirt, which she was now relieved that she would no longer have to wash.
Carefully setting the silver tray on the table beside Merrick, she picked up the vial of purplish-blue liquid, swirling it counter clockwise a few times to allow the liquids to mix. The floral smell of forget-me-nots permeated the air, nearly making it difficult to breath without inhaling the potent concoction. But that didn’t bother her, for she loved the smell of forget-me-nots. Mary lifted the vial to her nose, inhaling deeply, her mind becoming briefly clouded. For a moment she almost forgot every reason she had to be angry with this man before her, and with every man in existence, damn the faithless lot.
“Time to take your medicine Mister Merrick,” Mary sing songed as she measured out a portion of her vile potion into a spoon, then held it out to Merrick’s lips as a mother would a soothing tonic to a child afflicted with a common chill. She could see Merrick’s eyes flickering, trying to grasp and hold on to some semblance of coherency, something just enough to fight her off. Turning his head away from the spoon, Mary was forced to grab hold of his chin, facing it towards her.
“Tsk tsk!” Mary clucked her tongue, shaking her head at the naughty patient. “Now that’s not going to do you any good.” Pressing on his cheeks, she pinched his mouth until it opened in a surprised “O” formation. Lifting up the spoon handle, she shoveled in the liquid, some of it dribbling down Merrick’s chin, leaving bluish-purple streaks on his face.
“There now. All be-“ Mary was interrupted by Merrick suddenly spitting the liquid out of his mouth and onto her face in a surprising show of defiance. Mary closed her eyes for a moment, wiping the back of her hand across her face to remove spittle swirled with potion. Trying to find the patience not to simply snap the old bastard’s neck, she could barely even remember why she shouldn’t. Oh, right…comfort. Security. Payment for services rendered. Taking a deep breath, she forced her wrinkly and chubby face into a smile. “Now, now, Mister Merrick, you’re just forcing me to give you another dose you know.” Mary turned to pour more of the liquid into the large spoon.
As she was pouring, her back turned to Merrick, she heard a loud snap, followed by a fizzle behind her. Spinning around, she caught a glimpse of a flash, and then “poof”. Merrick disappeared, just like a street performer performing a trick with a vanishing dove. Gone, with only a small puddle of drool, excrement, and her potion left on the floor where he once was.
“Damn,” was all Mary could manage to mutter, as she felt the violent anger of being thwarted bubble up inside of her body.
Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, she placed the tray and her spoon carefully back on the table. With careful, measured steps, she exited the room, proceeding down the hallway, until she reached her quarters. Things were not going as she had planned, she thought as she placed her hand on the doorknob, a sudden surge of anger coursing through her body until she snapped the handle off of the door. No matter.
Mary had been such an extraordinary child. And she had grown up into an extraordinary woman. It was such a shame that everyone else didn’t see that it would have been so much easier just to give her what was her due. If they had, she wouldn’t be forced to take measures.
Shoving the door open to her room, she gathered a few of her things. Most notably, a small velvet bag filled with perfectly rounded pebbles resembling polished marbles. Within the marbles swirled silver mist, and faint flickering images. Many would have thought this quite odd, peculiar even, if the had known of it. But, luckily, only one or two others did. Or at least, only one or two others still remembered that they had known.
Mary turned around, exiting the room, and proceeded to the garden. Her pride and joy. Mary had such a talent with flowers. And even more so, a talent with turning those things she grew into all manner of potions, which could heal… or poison. But once again, only one or two were alive who would remember that either.
Mary paused, bending down to smell the beautiful flowers that grew in her garden. How she hated to leave her blooms behind. Oh well, she would simply have to leave nothing else behind either.
Reaching up to her face, Mary began to claw and pull, until layers of flesh began to peel away. Shaking her hands free of the matter, it dropped to jiggling chunks upon the ground. First her face, then her arms, then her stomach, her legs… Mary finished by pulling away the wig of matted hair, shaking out her own beautiful golden curls. When all was done, what was left on the ground looked like a snake’s shedded skin. Nothing more than an empty husk that someone once wore. Brushing her hands over her soft and smooth cheeks, she flicked away a stray piece that she had missed. ‘I am in desperate need of a bath,’ Mary thought to herself as she stepped through the garden gate.
Before she left, Mary paused and surveyed her garden one last time. Such a pity. With a few spoken words to her Goddess, she flicked her hands and blew the house and her garden a kiss goodbye.
As for the memories, well. That was a ledger that would have to be balanced later.
-
The Tenth Track: “Land of Confusion” – Disturbed
Alarm bells clanged loudly from the streets, accompanied by the sounds of running and shouting. Jerrick and I sprang from our beds in our respective separate rooms (Mary would have had a heart palpitation otherwise) and we went running down the hall, pulling on boots and other clothing.
“What’s wrong? – What the hells is going on?” we asked simultaneously, the minute we saw Mary.
Mary stood in the hall, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her clean apron. “I was bakin’ bread when I heard the news. Poor Miss Amberlynn…Oh Sierra, your Uncle Liore was murdered on his boat, by that foul woman with the violet eyes!”
I gasped, suddenly feeling all the air sucked out of my chest. Uncle Liore? Dead? Murdered of all things? The man was well known for his ability to use a rapier with deadly efficiency, and I couldn’t fathom someone being able to kill him. I still remembered him teaching me bawdy tavern ditties when I was a girl, long before I understood what the words meant. He couldn’t possibly be… dead?
Jerrick muttered a curse beside me, his brow furrowed and his eyes glaring at the floor. “We need to find this woman. Where would she hide?” he asked Mary. “Some place that Liore would have access to, but she’d be able to lock herself in?”
“Weellll… I ‘spect she’d prolly hide herself out in one of his warehouses down by the docks,” Mary answered with a shrug.
Seconds later, Jerrick and I were both out the door, making our way down the street towards the waterfront. On the way, we passed squads of guards, combing the streets, looking for Liore’s killer – the violet-eyed woman. They knocked on doors, questioning frightened civilians. Not wanting to be stopped and questioned ourselves, the Jerrick and I stuck to the shadows and soon found ourselves in an alleyway near Uncle Liore’s warehouse.
Jerrick held up a hand, indicating the need for silence. Creeping forward, he laid his hand on the lever for the warehouse’s side door. Locked. Glancing up, he scanned the windows that rose high above the ground, assessing each until he spotted one partially cracked open. Suddenly, his bones began to make a sickening sound of crunching and reforming themselves, until he took the form of a bird, and set off into flight towards the window.
I stood on the ground for some time, before I hear a thud from the other side of the door, and a pop at the door latch. “SIERRA!” Jerrick shouted, and I burst through the now unlocked door. There before me was my Aunt Amberlynn, wife of my Uncle Liore, tackled to the ground by Fayt, Jerrick’s companion. In her hand she held a vicious looking dagger, already coated with thick syrupy blood. Opposite her was Jerrick who held his own weapon towards a woman with thick dark hair and brilliant violet eyes, cowering in the corner.
I stood there stunned by the scene. What in the hells was going on here?Amberlynn screamed like a banshee, threatening to stab Fayt with the dagger in her hand, which was fortunately pinned to the ground underneath one of the dire wolf’s paws. Meanwhile, the violet eyed woman seemed close to tears and absolutely terrified by Amberlynn who was a few short feet away. Jerrick seemed to be as confused as I was, but even more so, angered by that confusion, looking between the two women as if he wasn’t sure who to question first.
“Alright, we’re going to have a few questions answered here… and…” his eyes finally settled on the violet eyed woman, “You’re going first. Who the hell are you?”
The violet-eyed woman hiccupped, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “My name is Xivian,” she finally answered.
Jerrick nodded, as if filing away that information. “And why did you kill Captain Liore?”
Xivian looked up at Jerrick aghast. “Kill L-l-liore? Why would I do something like that?! He was my father!” the woman shouted.
I felt my body jolt at that revelation. Uncle Liore’s daughter? What the-
“Don’t listen to a bloody word she says. She killed him!” Amberlynn screamed, struggling once more to free the dagger wielding hand, her beautiful and angelic face twisted into a snarl. “She’s nothing more than a husband stealing harlot! She was jealous that Liore was going to return to me.”
Xivian’s eyes widened a moment before she turned a sickly green color. “I didn’t kill anyone. You did! And the others too.” she shouted back towards Amberlynn, before turning her violet eyes to Jerrick, pleading. “Just ask the first mate. He was hiding in the crow’s nest, and he saw the whole thing.”
Everyone stilled once more, each one of us feeling the world tilting with that statement.
Jerrick looked to me as if to ask, ‘Well, what now?’. All I could do was to stare back at him, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the woman who I had known these past years, and called “Aunt” could have killed my Uncle Liore. And if she did… what could she have done to my father?
Jerrick sighed, looking between the two once more, and came to his conclusion, finally turning to aim his scimitar at Amberlynn. “Do you have anything to say to this?” he asked her.
Amberlynn seemed to consider her position, figuratively and literally. “Yes, I do.”
We all stared at her, waiting for what she would say next. Amberlynn’s eyes turned to me, and she formed her face in a perfectly innocent, beautiful, and angelic looking smile. The kind that said, ‘Trust me, you’ve known me for years.’
“You really should let me go. It’s not wise to dawdle with me while leaving Mother alone with your father. There really is no telling what she might do.”
-
The Nineth Track: “Home” – Daughtry
The moment the wagon came to a stop in front of my childhood home, I jumped out and ran for the door. Almost immediately it was opened by a woman with a kindly old face, and faded brown hair tied up in a bun. That was our housekeeper, Mary. She had been with us since before Mother passed away and she helped to hold the house together while me and my father went through our grieving. Neither of us would have survived without her brand of non-nonsense advice, which was given out whether we wanted it or not.
“Sierra m’girl! You’re finally here!” Mary shouted as she rushed through the front door, giving me a brief hug before ushering me inside. Jerrick followed us, placid as usual, his eyes shifting around and taking everything in.
The inside of the house was filled with fresh sunlight reflecting off of the sand colored walls, only broken up by my mother’s pottery work, displayed carefully on wooden shelves. It was nice to know that even though my mother had passed, that Mary still respected the woman who had run this house before her. I felt Mary’s plump arm squeeze me around my waist in another hug, before looking over her shoulder.
“Who’s ‘e?” she asked, her brow furrowed. Mary never really warmed up to any male who came around the house that wasn’t my father or my uncle Liore.
“Well, that’s…” I paused for a moment, biting my lower lip. “That’s Jerrick. He’s a very good friend from Narfell. That’s the land I’ve been staying in recently. He’s ah… a healer of sorts, and thinks that he can help father.”
Mary’s frown only deepened. She obviously hasn’t forgotten the other “very good friends” of mine who used to visit the house. She was never very impressed with any of them, and had actually chased them off with a frying pan once or twice.
“Eh… well. ‘E’s ‘ere now I guess. Nothin’ to be done for it,” Mary mumbled, proceeding to shuffle around the kitchen and busy herself with something sort of inane task.
Jerrick stepped forward, giving Mary one of his best soothing smiles, the kind that says, ‘you want to trust me, because I’m here to help you’. I’d seen him use it a number of times on people, especially on the journey here. He followed by complimenting her work, how clean the kitchen was, and was that pie baking in the oven? It smelled wonderful. Soon enough, Mary did indeed warm up to him, and it was then that Jerrick began to ask her about my father and his condition.
Mary told us a story of how my father suddenly started having difficulty remembering things, and how his memory became progressively worse each day. That how some days, he even had difficulty remembering my mother’s name, or that she even existed. Hearing all that frightened me. ‘He was forgetting my mother? He’d never do that’ I thought to myself.
And then, Mary began to allude to other things. That perhaps some violet eyed, dark haired woman may be behind my father’s illness. And that this woman was now my Uncle Liore’s mistress, whom he freely and openly took about town! Poor Aunt Amberlynn, I thought, and heard my sentiments echoed a moment later in Mary’s voice.
“She’s such a sweet and kind hearted woman she is,” Mary added.
Almost immediately, I formed the picture in my head. This violet-eyed woman was obviously an agent of Amn, or some other rival merchant cartel. Uncle Liore was in control of all shipping within Riatavin, and owned just about every ship that sailed out of the ports here. My anger continued to grow and bubble over as the story continued to evolve and write itself. The violet-eyed woman must somehow have Liore under some sort of spell, and when my father realized this, she began to poison him… that must be why he’s so sick!
I could barely contain myself as Jerrick continued to question Mary. I could see that he too was coming to a similar conclusion, and eventually Mary did too.
“You… You don’ think that this lady is poisonin’ Mister Merrick, do you?” Mary asked with a gasp.
Jerrick flashed his kind ‘trust me’ smile once more, patting Mary on the shoulder. “I’m not sure, but I promise you that I’ll find out and do whatever I can to help Merrick get better.” Just as intended, Mary responded with a thankful smile, and a comment about how we must both be tired, and that she would go make up some rooms for us.
I looked to Jerrick and he looked to me as Mary left to see to the rooms. Neither of us said much, but we both felt that something was definitely off here. It looked like home, and it had all the right people here, but it seemed like we were all playing the wrong parts.
“Tomorrow I’d like to go meet your Uncle Liore and this violet eyed woman,” Jerrick stated simply. “Tonight, we rest.”
-
The Eighth Track: “Stand By Me” – Ben E. King
During the entire journey to Riatavin, I couldn’t stop twitching. It was either my leg, constantly jiggling up and down, my hands needing to drum on some nearby surface, or the odd annoying and repetitive sounds that I would make, each communicating that in one way or another, I was anxious to see what the situation was with my father.
Less than a ten day ago, I had received a letter from my aunt Amberlynn, stating that my father was gravely ill. Immediately, I began to make arrangements to return home, letting all of my superiors know that I would be gone for some time, as well as my friends, and of course… Jerrick. All responded as one might expect, wishing me a safe journey and a speedy recovery for my father. Except for … Jerrick. No, his first response was, “Alright then. When do we leave?” It was the “we” part that startled me. I didn’t ask him to come with me, and he wasn’t making a polite offer to come, secretly hoping I would give the polite response of, “No, no, you don’t have to do that.” No, he automatically assumed, without question, that he would be going where ever I went and that he would do whatever he could to help heal my father, a man whom he had never met, but knew was important to me.
I honestly… didn’t expect that.
The next I knew it, we had both packed up our things and supplies for the journey, and we were on our way south through the Great Dale, and onward to Impultir, where Aelthas had told me that there was a temple of Selune in New Sarshel that might be able to send us closer to Tethyr by portal. Riding in the back of a wagon, sitting next to Jerrick, all I could do was twitch and worry about my father. Would he still be there, would he still be alive, by the time I arrived? I hoped so. I continued to let my fears eat away at me as we approached the Selunite temple, tied in knots over what we would do if they couldn’t send me closer to Riatavin.
I was about to burst into tears, there on the temple steps, when I felt a hand in mine, and a gentle squeeze.
“It will be alright,” he said. “I promise that I’ll do everything I can to help your father.”
While I wasn’t entirely certain if I believed if everything would be alright, or if Jerrick’s healing abilities would be enough to save my father’s life, that he was there was comforting. My fear was still there that we would be too late, but I knew he meant it that he would do everything he could to help.
Most importantly, I knew… that I wasn’t alone, for the first in a very long time.
-
The Seventh Track: ”Lightening Crashes” – Live
I’d be pressed to admit how far I had fallen that first year.
Like many children, I was eager to escape my parent’s home as soon as I was able. The minute I deemed myself an adult (even though their opinion more than differed on that matter) I was packing my things and dragging them out the door.
But, life outside… wasn’t everything I thought it would be.
Even still, I long for the days when my parents did give me rules, and when they told me what to do, and when to do it. Less freedom? Yes. But, in so many ways it’s just easier not to think, and to let people who you know love you, even if they infuriate you, make your decisions. You don’t have to worry so much… if the choice you make, is the wrong one.
Of course, our parents are so much more than simple decision makers. They’re the first memory of a comforting touch, one that speaks to you, “It’s alright. I’m here”. They’re the first memory of disappointment when you’ve done something you know you shouldn’t have. And now that I think on it, they’re my very first memory of inspiration.
Especially my mother, for a mother is always special to the daughter.
When my mother fell ill, I returned home almost immediately. I had intended to stay there with her, to be the brave figure beside her, holding her hand as she recovered. She was my mother, so of course she would. Instead, I sat beside my mother, holding her hand as she wasted away, minute by horrific minute.
First she lost her voice… her ability to say even the simple things like “Please”, “Thank you”, or “I love you”. The very first words she taught me to speak.
Then her memories…her wedding day, the day I was born… every happy moment, and every disappointment.
Then she lost herself…
Its difficult to say that when me and my father lost her too, but looking back, I’m fairly certain it was before the shriveled husk of a body finally gave up gasping for breath and clinging to life. At least, I hope it was.
For months after that, I simply forced myself to return to normal life there with my father. He had no one else, so… it was my duty to stay. Not to mention, it was questionable if he would be able to take care of himself. He had long since ceased to sleep, just days before mother had passed, and food was taken only rarely. And then one day, we traded places. I could think of nothing but her, and how my life would never be the same. About how life would never feel the same, and I would never feel like myself again. That my heart, my soul and left with her, and I was now numb.
But, in time, we achieved some semblance of balance and recovery. We acknowledged the gaping holes that was now in our lives, the ones that would always be there, and could only be filled by mother. We both stopped drowning in the murky black canyons within ourselves.
And at the end of that first year, we decided to try living out our lives without her, but without each other to remind us of what we had lost.
Father and I were never very close. It wasn’t that we didn’t love each other, we did. But, we had always just… more accepted our love for each other, rather than enjoy each moment of it as we had with the time we had with mother.
Despite that, I always thought he would be there. Eternal.
The note came early this morning, informing me that he is ill, and the chance is high that he will die from his illness. In many ways, I was surprised it hurt so much to hear this. Of course, I should expect it now, but…yet still, I was shocked once again. Dumbfounded. And even now, I can almost feel the hole opening up in me again, the hole I had almost forgotten was still there, except for on bad days. The hole is not only open now, it threatens to swallow me once again. The idea terrifies me of going through the ordeal once again. I’m almost not certain if I could survive it all intact.
But, once again I go home.
And I go to hold the hand of a dying parent.
-
B Sides
Intro: “Everything in its Right Place” – RadioheadWhat to say?
I intentionally made myself not write about him. And by “him” I mean Jerrick.
Part of me wanted to write the sorts of simpering little details about him, describing his face, his physique, the way his eyes looked when he laughs, the wolfish tilt of his head, and so on, just like the average female would, but another part of me clamped down my hands, and kept myself from the quill whenever I felt tempted.
Sometimes I shook like an addict of black lotus waiting for the next shipment, but it was just too much to risk putting to page the description of someone who means that much when the risk of losing them is so high. Why? Because, the minute you do write about them, you commit yourself to the possibility of having to read about that person long after they’re gone, long after whatever they’ve done to break your heart has happened, and to know that it’s apart of your own personal story for the rest of your days.
But, now he’s here. I went ahead, and took the risk and wrote him in. And it feels terrifying and more frightening than even the most binding of promises.
Now, to tell the story…
–-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Let Me Go” – 3 Doors Down
We were holding the civic district, and people had gathered around the ruins of the old civic building, elated that we were doing so well. They gathered to boast of their own accomplishments, and to speculate on what the next action to be taken would be. Almost all agreed that retaking the commerce district was a must.
I sat near one of the flower beds that were once so pristine and carved to perfectly compliment city hall feeling mildly annoyed by the childish actions of one individual. I suppose it wasn’t really a surprise how he was acting. Men don’t usually like it when their partners decide to drop them first. Granted, I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t going to sleep with him anymore, because I now realized that I had said some rather stupid things in hindsight, but I was pretty certain he was getting the picture. Where as before he was at least kind enough to only hold the captain’s hand infront of me, he was now all but trying to convince some elven miss to drop to her knees infront of him or at least to go back to barracks for a very thorough physical examination. Certainly, he was probably doing that because he genuinely wanted to sleep with her, but I’m sure there was some small part of revenge there because he knew it would bother me – even though I had said it wouldn’t. Which is of course, the reason for the aforementioned “dropping”.
Taria and the others threw me glances now and again just to be certain I wasn’t going to fly off in a fit of jealous rage, but it truly didn’t bother me much. I was content to talk to the Professor, my unofficial mentor. The Professor and I continued chatting for some time – him trying to lecture me on the need for me to study more lore and to learn who my predecessors were, with me on the other hand blatantly flirting with him, not because I really wanted him, but because it annoyed him and got him off the track of attempting to assign me studies.
We went on bickering for some time, until we heard some fellow across the plaza laughing very loudly – announcing to a group of his friends that he’d tell the story in a minute, just as soon as he dealt with some small detail with his pack. Intrigued, the professor and I wandered over, inserting us into the circle of friends in order to listen to the story more closely.
After all, we were bards. It’s what we do.
Part of me wants to resist here, going into poetic description of what he looked like. I mean, it’s revolting when someone moons and pines away for someone in some sort of trite and overly poetic fashion. However, that being said… I really wanted him right away. Sharp cheekbones, angular and somewhat hawkish, but they had the shape that was clearly the product of half elven heritage like myself. His hair was a dark reddish brown like the color of fall leaves, and his eyes the shade of warm maple syrup. But even more so was his smell, which practically smacked me in the face with how strong it was – the scent of cut grass and cedar.
He went on to tell his story, and I listened with half an ear. I couldn’t tell you what it was about really, but I do know that the way he told it was very skilled and artistic, with just the right amount of description and facial movement to show his investment in the tale that perhaps had something to do with trees. I just sat there, and simply watched.
Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t love at first sight. But it was certainly a sort of “knowing”.
He finished his tale, and then he looked at me and introduced himself, “Jerrick Rayfe” he said. I wanted to shake my head, and ask him to repeat it again, that he must be joking, but it was obvious that he was certain and serious about his identity. It took almost everything I could not to audibly groan or at least scream out in absolute disgust. Jerrick Rayfe? Kara’s fiancé? You had to be joking me… and if someone was, it was about as funny as Mercy’s hygiene, which was “not at all”.
Jerrick Rayfe. Fiancé of Kara Du’Monte, one of my best friends, who was at least for now in control of the N’Jasti army that was attacking the city. The same Kara that was theorized to have lost her soul to an arch devil. And the woman I had attempted to kill not more than a ten-day before.
And here was standing infront of me with a rather cute smile that was crossed somewhere in between a feral wolf grin that could frighten someone’s heart into stopping and that of a boy who had just done something very naughty, but knew his charm would get him out of it. An odd combination to say the least, but very potent.
He asked me to sing for him. I did.
He asked for some of the lyrics so that he could write them down, and I gave them to him.
He asked to talk to me some more. So we did.We talked all through the night, and into dawn.
I was honest with him, telling him I knew who he was, and that I knew Kara. I even told him what I tried to do. For some reason, perhaps to my detriment, I didn’t want to lie to him, couldn’t. He simply shrugged, and said, “Perhaps it would have been better had you succeeded”. I remember us up on the wall, and he stepped forward and held me, saying that he understood why, and it was alright.
I knew what he meant – not that he wished to be rid of his fiancé so he could move on to someone else who was more convenient. No, it was a simple statement, with many meanings. Perhaps it would have been better because we wouldn’t have had to deal with the N’Jasti’s fierce determination to hold what parts of the city that they did. Perhaps there wouldn’t have been a war. Perhaps… although he knew the woman who had been his fiancé had long since passed, what was left behind was close enough that it kept the wound of losing her open and unable to heal.
We continued to talk, about Kara and other matters, until we found a spot to curl up and sleep, continuing to talk as we lay next to each other. Despite the situation, it had become apparent that whatever attraction I felt, he felt as well, although there was no argument that it wouldn’t be acted upon.
Eventually we fell asleep, and when I awoke the next morning, I found a simple note written in blue ink…
_Sierra, spending time with you last night was wonderful, and I would love to get to know you better.
I have a lot of heavy decisions to make, so please do not think ill of me if you don't see me for a time. I know you know what I'm going through, so I'm not worried about you misunderstanding this.
I will see you soon, even if you don't see me.
-Jerrick_
The note wasn’t very long. But it was more than enough, and perhaps too much.
I was completely hooked.
-
The Sixth Track: ”Sanctuary” – Utada Hikaru
Kneeling down in the grass, the wind rippled through her hair. Sierra kept her hands pressed together, singing the same prayer to Finder Wyvernspur over and over again under her breath, changing it a bit here and there each time, so that it wasn’t quite the same each time it was sung. As she sung the last of the prayer, her hand lifted up, the pads of her fingertips gently pressing against the relief of the harp on her choker, feeling the waxy smooth surface of the cameo that hung from the velvet ribbon.
She very rarely, if ever called upon Finder - not really. Certainly she would vocalize asking for his aid, but she never truly put her heart and every part of her soul into it, not like it was said that must be done in order to truly call on any deity’s aid. Even then, she had always been told, the deities would rarely answer, unless they good and felt like it.
Raising her hands to the sky, she tipped her head back, reaching up until she nearly felt like she could touch the watery yellows, oranges, roses, reds and golds of the sky, painted with the setting sun. With this day that would die, and settle into night, a new one would begin, and be reborn in the dawn… new sounds that had never been heard before, would echo through the streets and fields. New colors would be touched to canvas, stroked upon it with the fine bristles of a painter’s brush. Sierra leaned to the side, stretching to the horizon on her left, then back to the right, swaying, breathing deeply, the air inflating her body and lifting it up, exhaling and falling down with a sigh. Bending forward once again, she balanced upon the shin of her leg, lifting a leg behind her to give leverage so that she could tip over into a rolled tumble. With that she found her footing, drawing herself up to stand and watch the last of the sun set beneath the jagged line of the trees to the west.
Another breeze blew up behind her, making her close her eyes and tilt her head to the side. Sierra could almost feel his hand on her cheek, body pressed behind her. From him, she could feel waves of comfort, wisdom, bravery, but uncertainty as well. Those feelings passed through her like a breeze, one that she wished she could grab and hold onto, but like the air, it only passed through her fingers on the way to some pre-determined destination.
From the south came a woman, walking slow up the hill, her steps slow and measured, her red hair snapping in the wind angrily. As she approached, she reached out and took Sierra’s hand, holding it tightly, almost painfully in her own so that she could feel the nails digging into her palm.
“It is impossible to live a life without regret. There is always a time in which we find later that a better option was available rather than the action we chose to take,” began red haired woman, her hand extending to gesture out to the craggy pass before them, marked with what seemed like hundreds of paths, snaking out left, right, forward and back. “Sometimes, it’s as simple as choosing to turn right when left was better. At others, sometimes the choice is deciding to die when living is better.”
Her beautiful face turned towards Sierra, sad and kindly, yet burning with hatred from behind her eyes. “This isn’t an excuse. And this isn’t a plea or bid for sympathy or understanding. This is just a statement of something that just “is”. Neither wrong, nor right, but just something that exists within the world just as life and death, war, peace, love and hate.”
Shivering, the feelings of unsettlement grew within Sierra, reaching within to pull at her stomach, threatening to rip it out.
Then came footsteps from the north, this time belonging to a fair haired, cool blonde. “It is true…’’ she began, “that there are so many things much worse than death.”
As the woman approached, her words lingered in the air, and Sierra could see that there was something wrong with her eyes. They were a dull cloudy grey… this woman was blind.
“There is the slow deterioration of oneself, of those we love,” said the blind woman, as she turned to stand beside her, her hand reaching into Sierra’s, hesitantly gripping it. “Watching them rot and crumble away a little at a time… just a crumb here or there falling from their body to the ground as the sun rotates in the sky. Feeling a small part of our heart and soul leak away at the same time. And all the while, you know that know that you are completely powerless to stop it.”
Fear squeezed around Sierra’s heart, and she looked behind her, meaning to look into his eyes, but not seeing them. He was gone from behind her, and she saw instead her own blue eyes staring back watchfully, simply observing, albeit with a perplexed expression. In her hand was a quill, and in the other hand a roll of parchment.
Her mouth moved, and Sierra could see that there were words being formed, but they were simply not coming out. She was silenced. But still, she could understand what she was meant to say.
“What are you doing here?” she asked of herself. “This isn’t your story”.
Jolting, Sierra shot up awake, her journal laid out before her on the table, quill still in her hand. Reaching up, she rubbed her face, a smear of ink coming away onto the back of her hand. She had fallen asleep, and had what was potentially the craziest dream of her life.
Moonshine. It punished the drinker, and just kept on punishing some more.
Sighing softly, she looked down at her journal, curious if she had written anything in its pages inspired by her dreamy drunken hallucinations. But, there wasn’t even one bit of the dream there…. Just one name, that of a leading man. It was written very carefully, with obvious affection by the quill-bearer, but then struck through angrily and in frustration.
Beneath the name was a brief note.
This isn’t your story.
-
The Fifth Track: ”No Leaf Clover” – Metallica
The war…thus far…
The first storm of many, and like many other storms, it rolled in with the thunder of troops marching and the horses canting carrying N’jastian calvarymen. Then there were the constructs and the catapults. They were not the thunder. No, they were the lightening, viciously striking with no other purpose than it was simply what lightening did. It is why they existed.
As they rolled ever closer, clapping upon the ground like the storms crashing against one another, the rush of the winds of war swept towards Peltarch. The gusts chased after one another through the streets as some sought to seek shelter and others prepared themselves to become to be that shelter. And yet more… stepped outside simply to lift their faces to the sky with a grin, ready to greet the rain that would most certainly fall.
People would huddle together quietly, making plans to send their lovers, their elders and their children and to safety, while they themselves would stay behind to face uncertainty. Not of the future, but whether or not they would even survive to find out what the future would bring. Wondering who would be left widowed or orphaned.
Then, came the day that the storm arrived, every bit as fierce as we all had feared it would be.
The sky burst forth with chunks of stone and fire, exploding in the minds of all who had expected this, but couldn’t believe how absolutely horrific it was. This was not a storm to dance in, one that made legends or heroes. It wasn’t even one that bore the truth of a fight for freedom, of good over evil. Although, freedom was certainly at risk, and there were both good and evil hearts on both sides praying for particular outcomes.
Shards of catapult boulders shot off from the ground, shattering buildings, blood and bone. Some would do more than simply crush their random targets, but would slice through the air and chests, leaving their victims standing, stunned for a few moments before they realized that they were now missing an ear, an arm, a leg… or that their innards had begun to spill over the ground a few moments ago, and only now noticed because of the “plop, plop, plop” sound of it all hitting the ground with sickening smacks.
Archers would line the walls, firing off hails of arrows so thick that one would think that locusts were flying overhead, preparing to devastate the lands. Swordsmen would dance and dodge into the fray, slipping around enemies to slay another, and a moment later would fall to the ground, a metal love note ending with a hilt, piercing their heart from back to front, where the tip emerged.
Trumpets sounded one after another, warning almost hourly of more and more attacks. And so it continued… until we nearly lost everything.
Innocents only trying to escape the storm were tossed about on a boat, meant to carry them to safety, which only found itself crashed and broken against the rocks, barely out of the harbor.
Those constructs, the walking bolts of lightening, stood true to their purpose and struck out at everything, even those masters which were arrogant enough to think that you could harness something with such power.
All of us. N’Jasti, Peltarchian…We nearly lost… everything.
And perhaps, we did.
But then, part of it was taken back. Then another part. Then another.
Were we valiant?
Were we really victorious?
No, I don’t think so.
But we survived.
-
The Fourth Track: I Enjoy Being a Girl - Lea Salonga
My thoughts have been far too dismal and grim lately. So much so, that I am starting to dwell. Thus, I’m forcing myself to think and write about something amusing. Even if it is innocuous.
So, there was this whole celebration thing that was supposed to happen at the feast hall. I finally reclaimed my little room in the mermaid, and I stood there, staring in a cracked mirror with a splinter of reflections staring back at me wearing the baggiest dress blue defender uniform. I had to question whether the quartermaster had even been paying attention when I had given him my measurements. You could fit me, and my subordinate in here.
All I could think was, “You’ve got to be joking”. About the uniform that is. Although, my subordinate isn’t exactly a fun girl herself.
But it came down to this or having to wear a dress. And frankly, they haven’t made a dress yet that I’d bother to try to squeeze myself into even if the Lady of Loss was threatening to wipe the whole world away.
So, here I was, wearing… a uniform. A baggy, ugly, unflattering lieutenant’s uniform. If this is what I was going to be forced to wear - well, my crabby subordinate Hen could have it. Its only real redeeming qualities were that the majority of the fabric had been dyed black, and a really quite lovely shade of blue, which reminded me of the color of the night sky.
I once again contemplated changing out of the big baggy uniform, but then paused again as I went to reach for my normal set of leathers and tunic, hesitating.
Argh. I’d be insulting all of the other defenders, the Generals, and essentially a lot of people who fought really hard for Peltarch by refusing to wear the uniform. Even if it was ghastly, I knew that wasn’t a good enough reason to not wear it.
Sometimes things just aren’t fair.
But then I stopped, I took a deep breath, and I reminded myself of the most important truth that I had ever learned-
I am a bard. And we are entitled - no, required - to look presentable when we are seen. To have a sense of flair, a sense of style.
And almost more importantly, your tailor can be your best friend.
I took myself off down the street to the tailors shop (which bless Sune and any other god of good grooming it survived the attack on the city) and we put our heads together. I must say that the new design we settled on is quite nice. It’s still blue. It still has black. It’s still Peltarchian … in spirit.
Hells, even General Lavindo liked it, and complimented me on my interpretation of the uniform when I showed up in it at the ceremony. And at best, I was expecting a few citations for destruction of Peltarch army property.
Yep… I looked good.
Hrm… Maybe we can get ALL of the dress uniforms a nice new design…
Either way. I got a medal at the ceremony. It was nice.
-
"ARR! I Feel Like a Pirate" - Commissioned by Request
(To the tune of, "Man! I Feel Like a Woman" - Shania Twain)
Sailin’ out o’ port – got rum by tha’ quart
Gonna start one hell of a fight
Oh hoist up the sails, Oh grab ye some nails
Yeah, boys we’re shippin’ out tonightDon’ need permission, ain’t gonna listen
Oh, you better get outta our way
ain’t soft and cuddly, or tryin’ to be funny
Gonna be gone by first lightChorus:
We’re a crew of crazy friggin’ pirates
After gold, glory an’ drinkin’ me rum (rum rum)Oh, oh, oh, gonna smash a face in - joints to be casin’
Puffy shirts – Parrot chirps
Oh, oh, oh, raisin’ hells-yeah, doin' it pirate style
Oh, oh, oh, I’m a pirate captain- lookin’ for some action
Wearin’a patch – Hook ta match
Oh, oh, oh, we’re fancy free-yeah, until they throw ‘way the keyArr! I feel like a pirate!
Need ta find some booty- don’ mean tumblin’ a cutie
But, riches to fill up the cargo bay
Map in hand I’ve got, hear X marks the spot
Oh yeah boys, we’re on our way(Chorus)
- Instrumental Solo Break –
(Chorus Repeat)
We get totally crazy
Can you feel it
Come, come, come on baby
I feel like a pirate
-
The Third Track: "Little Wonders" - Rob Thomas
It’s been such a long few days. But … we are free.
Yesterday, swept into the docks as the strike force for the defenders, only expecting to take small portions of the docks, footholds. Instead, we took a large foothold, which is what perhaps forced the N’Jasti to negotiate. While normally, one might expect us to simply attempt to kill or drive out the N’Jasti, peaceable terms were reached, and now all but one or two officers charged with war crimes will leave Peltarch for their home, unharmed.
One such war criminal was a necromancer, Janlyssa the Black. After initially seeing the woman, it was easy to make the assumption that she was responsible for much of the undead roaming the Nars pass. She only seemed all too thrilled whenever the undead were mentioned. At the negotiations, when it was set as terms that she would be required to release herself into Peltarchian custody, she killed the officer we were negotiating with – Nornan, of the Red Knight – pulling his soul straight from his body, without barely a twitch of her fingers or word from her lips.
Such is the danger of employing those who simply love to cause pain, which lusts for blood above all else and has no other loyalties. Janlyssa was powerful, without a doubt. And when many of us were sent into the sewers to seek her out an bring her to justice, I felt trepidation at the idea of going up against someone who could pull someone’s spirit out of their body like one would pull a fresh towel from a rack.
Above all else, the most tragic, the most tiring event of all these past days was that while in pursuit of this necromantic witch, we found a family of hostages taken by Janlyssia. In our haste, one of our own approached too fast, triggering a trap, which claimed the parents’ lives, leaving two children now orphaned.
I would rail against the fact that yet more innocents were lost in pursuit of trying to win this war. I would scream at why. I would place blame, but on who? The person who triggered the trap, or the one who set it? Part of me wants to throw something, to break something. But I can’t. In the end, I can let this build in me, I can let this pull me down until I become like so many, and just either give up. I could dwell on all these things.
However, instead I will force myself to focus on the larger picture. Peltarch is now officially a city free of the control of the N’Jasti, and other forces. That in itself is a miracle, considering where we were before. All of us huddled into the Defender Head Quarters, trying to think about what we would do if the city completely fell. And many of us thought it would. They may say differently now, but… many of us had lost hope.
But now, we will soon begin to clean up the city, and to rebuild. Brick by brick, life by life. Hope will eventually replace fear, nightmares pushed out by fear. You can look around and see it has already begun. Children are now coming out of the barracks that they were sheltered in, and I have seen perhaps a laugh or smile or two. Couples are finding love, and some even found it in the midst of all this. Mel and Louie for example, are actually really very cute with their infatuation with each other, obviously wanting to constantly be with each other, but trying not to be too transparent about it. And then there is Taria an Captain Damien, both cool an almost artistic in the elegance in which they deal with each other, both of them tip toeing carefully, incase the other will find out something that they wouldn’t like.
I don’t know if all this will hold, or perhaps all these good things I see are simply colored by my own relief that this is almost over.
But I do know that we will now rebuild the crumbling buildings. We will form new bonds of friendship, strengthen the old, and form new families. Even unconventional, and confusing families like the sails.
Life will go on.
And in time, we will all find a way to fall in love again…
-
The Second Track:"Never is a Promise" – Fiona Apple
“Maybe there was nothing that could be done.
Maybe, it was written and made into fate long before we all stepped foot here, Even long before we were even a whisper on the winds.
Maybe, but, it is certain that we’ll never know for certain.…But as the scenery grows, I see in a different lights...”
I’ve never been able to sit still for long. Even right now, although I’m supposed to stare at the sky. Just stare, I can feel my foot twitching, shaking violently from the effort of trying to stay still and calm for so long. I’m just not sure if it’s in me to stay in one spot for so long. Perhaps, Aelthas is right - maybe I am chaos incarnate, and it’s beyond me to focus on any one thing for too long.
So… I’ll sit here. With my journal in hand, giving me at least one other thing to do, and maybe that’ll increase my odds of sitting here and actually staring at the sky as I was told to do. To stare, to think…. And maybe, the one thing I want, to find some answers.
But all I can think on is Kara… Maybe there was nothing that could be done to save her. She made her choices, and she could have made different ones. But…at times it feels like that our choices are made for us, long before we all stepped foot here.
I wonder what she would have became… but we’ll never know for certain…
I’m tired now, I’ll finish this later.
–-----------
I fell asleep. It figures, always happens when I stay still too long. When I woke up, I opened my eyes to see the sky, and it stared back at me. And I was just able to watch, just to think. I really don’t know if it had anything to do with what was in the sky, or just… well, finally getting some rest, but it was nice… letting myself outside of myself. I don't know how or why, but… I could think…I could see.
Whatever else Kara was, once upon a time, she was a friend to most, if not all of us. She was beautiful in her grace, and valiant in her actions.
She was simply… poetic. Even to the end.
She gave just about anyone a chance, even me. And the gods only know that I was her opposite in every way.
Whatever “Kara Du’Monte” became, I will always remember Kara. I will remember how she thwacked at an ice giant with a sword, chasing behind it while I ran around in circles with the giant chasing behind me.
I will remember the day that a lollipop began speaking to us, and how we all heard it, but wondered if we had all finally lost our minds. And I will remember how we formed the “Lollipop Pirate Brigade”.
I will always remember the courage she had shown. And how she just glowed with her radiance, her life. How she always tried to stand beside others, and at times stood in front of them to protect them, to save them, while she herself would come within an inch of her life.
It saddens me that her memory will always be dominated and colored by the judgements now made on her memory. The actions of the past days, are now what will be and what most will remember her as. The actions of someone who wasn’t Kara, but something else that spawned out of a pain and suffering that I won’t ever be able to understand or grasp.
But I will remember her as my friend. As my sister… I will never forget her.
… And here, under a blanket of inky blue sky, with stars piercing the fabric to shine small specs of light, with the moon creating shades and shadows that shift and bend on the crusty cold canvas of the pass…
Well…
No two people will ever see things the same way. And no other will see what I see.
And I can be at peace with that. Almost.
