3. Penny Lane: Story of a Girl

Penny Lane: Story of a Girl


  • IN THE BEGINNING

    This is our moment
    Here at the crossroads of time
    We hope our children carry our dreams down the line
    They are the vintage
    What kind of life will they live?
    Is this a curse or a blessing that we give?

    As she disembarked the ship from Port Llast at Peltarch's docks district, Penny shivered and pulled her cloak over her shoulders, her breath rising from her open mouth in a plume of cold.

    Why in tha 'ells would Lillie move ta such an infernally cold part a tha world.

    Her eyes were puffy and red from days of crying as she strode the streets of Peltarch, looking for the south gates and the passage to Norwick. It had been several weeks since word had reached her ears that her twin sister Lillie had been slain in the forests outside the town of Norwick. She had wondered almost endlessly since that day why Lillie had chosen to come to Narfell in the first place.

    If she'd jus' stayed at tha Sword Coast with me we coulda been travelin' minstrels, playin' songs an' makin' a name fer ourselves like mother never 'ad tha chance ta. Instead she 'ad ta come ta this cold, forsaken place an' go off an' git killed ta boot!

    As she stood outside the south gate of Peltarch, the sound of her mother's drums echoed through her mind as clear as if they were right next to her. Her mother was singing the same song that she and Lillie had spent hours dancing to when they were little. A fresh tear rolled down her cheek, leaving behind a cold trail as the icy wind whipped around her. She donned some leathers and a shield she purchased in Peltarch with what money she had left in her coin purse, and set off south toward Norwick, following behind some adventurers who were destined for the same town. As the group made its way down the Nars, fending off a few attacks by the Eastlander Thieves, one of the adventurers motioned toward the dark mouth of a cave atop a hill in the Pass.

    "A dragon lives there, lass. Big red one, named Rass. I'd suggest you run for your life if you ever see her roaming the pass. Many an adventurer have found themselves charred to a crisp for lingering too long in her line of sight."

    Penny heard little the old dwarf said after the word 'dragon'. As she stared up at the cave with an odd sort of fascination, the static in her mind changed, her mother's song dissipating and the sound of the drums twisting into a thunderous roar, accompanied by unnatural hissing and the occasional gutteral growl. Unnerved by the sudden shift, Penny shut her eyes tight, turning her back on the cave and on Rass, as if a change in posture might somehow alter the frightful din that raged inside her mind.

    "Miss…" The voice of the old dwarf snapped her back into reality. "How you expect to follow us with your eyes closed like that?" He laughed heartily, joined by the others in the group.

    My apologies, ya ol' shite. 'ad ya any idea a my circumstances, I doubt ya'd be so quick ta enjoy a laugh at my expense.

    Upon arriving in Norwick, Penny bid the travelers farewell, and made her way to Fred's, where the body of her sister lay before the alter, wrapped in a ragged white cloth soaked through with the stains of old blood. She scooped her sister up in her arms, slinging Lillie's meager pack over her shoulder, and trudged north to the graveyard. Out of the static rose the shrill whistle of birdpipes, slow and pensive.

    Well ain't that jus' peachy. Tha march a tha dead as I carry my sis ta 'er grave.

    
Several hours after tossing the last bit of dirt on top of Lillie's grave, Penny sat silently sipping a glass of wine in the Boarshead, all alone in a strange land. She rummaged through Lillie's belongings, carefully sorting out what she had not buried with her sister. Stuck at the back of Lillie's journal, she noticed a tattered piece of parchment, folded upon itself multiple times and yellowed from exposure to the elements. On the back side of the paper, she saw a note written in her sister's shorthand: "Find someone to translate." Unfolding the parchment, Penny rubbed the back of her head, a confused expression on her face. She recognized the script as her mother's writing, but she could not make out the strange language in which it was written.

_**Tha 'ells is this? It looks like mother's writin', but… Ah, shite. Well, I suppose I oughta 'old onta it in case I e'er figure out a way ta read it.**_

She slowly refolded the paper and placed it at the back of her own journal. Returning Lillie's old things back to the worn, brown pack, she slung it over her shoulder and walked back out into the cold morning air. Lillie had come to this land to make a name for herself, just as Penny had hoped to do on the Sword Coast. As she gazed northward at the gates, Penny could not bring herself to make the trek back to Peltarch and to the return ship bound for Port Llast. Lillie was part of Norwick now. She could not leave her sister here, destined to become forgotten in this land as the years droned on. The static parted once again, and the sound of her mother's elven flute emerged, clear and inspiring. She would stay here, in this barbarian town. Mother wanted them to taste the success that she had not. They had wanted to gain the renown that their mother had sought.

_**Well, I suppose this is as good a place as any ta be singin' an' performin'. 'Tis 'bout time tha Lanes got tha recognition we deserve. Guess it's on my shoulders now…**_

With that thought, Penny pulled her birdpipes from her pack and strolled southward past Praeth's toward the south fire…

_And in the evening
After the fire and the light
One thing is cretain: Nothing can hold back the night
Time is relentless
And as the past disappears
We're on the verge of all things new_

Lyrics from Billy Joel's "Two Thousand Years"

  • THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

    While strolling through the Boarshead, you see a small bound journal lying open on a table in the corner, apparently forgotten by its owner or left behind hastily when other business called. As you approach the journal, you notice the open pages covered with a gently flowing script, the words penned in Common. You begin to read:

    My dreams have become more frequent and more vivid recently. Most prominently, the image of the glowing crimson eyes of the dragon statue stands out in my memory in a way I can hardly explain. Though only present in this dream, I feel an attraction to their glow that tugs at the very core of my being. Each morning I awaken with this image fresh in my mind and run a finger across the scar on my wrist, wondering if this dream is indeed more real than I had first thought. Father once told me that the scar on my wrist was a result of an ancient gypsy blood oath that marked me as a member of our camp near Port Llast. Yet the similarity to my scar in the dream has remained an uneasy sign that something about me is not quite normal…

    A space, followed by a horizonal line across the page, seems to indicate a new entry on a new day. The next entry is written rather sloppily, a sharp contrast to the pleasant script in other entries, possibly indicating the writer's haste in penning her thoughts or an anxious state of mind at the time.

    That field. In the dream. I recognize it! It lies a morning's journey northeast of Waterdeep. Mother and father used to take Lillie and I there to play while they shopped for boots and other garments from the old merchant who set up shop there out of his farmhouse. This dream is reality. It must be. The field, the hooded men, the statue. All real! I will catch the next ship to Waterdeep setting sail from Peltarch. There MUST be answers there, there simply must…

    Another space, followed by a lengthier entry. There is no indication how much time has passed.

    I think I've finally learned the reasons for my vivid dreams, the music in my mind, and the hissing voices that speak to me under the cover of night. I feel it is a mixed blessing however. I am not sure whether to rejoice in these new-found answers or tremble in fear of what may come of them…

    I found that field, the one in my dreams. It was in fact the same place I remembered from my childhood, save for the old farmhouse now standing abandoned and in disrepair. Standing in that field, I closed my eyes, only to have the memories start rushing back and breaking through like teaming floodwater against a meager dam. Three men in red robes snatching me up and proceeding to the north. I started walking in the same direction they took, guided by an undescribeable allure reaching farther into my soul than any feeling ever did. After perhaps an hour, I saw it. The mouth of a cave, unmarked and unattended. I proceeded inside and down a dark passage, the sound of trickling water around me and the musty scent of dark caverns filling my nose. In the distance I saw an opening in the wall, set off by the firelight emerging from within. As I passed through the opening, I was met with those burning red eyes, glowing a deep crimson from within the sockets of the great statue, a towering dragon, sculpted beautifully in perfect detail. Before it stood a stone altar, flanked on each side by the torches which illuminated the room. I felt myself mesmerized by the statue as the sound of thundering drums rose up in my mind once again. This time, however, I was oddly unafraid. Then, from behind came a voice I thought existed only in my mind: "We knew you would return. It was only a matter of time until your blood brought you back."

    I spun around quickly, and found myself face to face with three men, dressed in red, one man standing in front of the other two. The three men. Outstretching my hands, palms up, I glanced from the scar on my wrist to the man in front and said simply, "What happened here?" He grinned wryly and began to explain. They were Thayan wizards, sent to this region from their homeland to establish a ritual for binding the powers of great beasts to mortals. The mortal for their experiment– myself. The beast-- the Great Red Wyrm of legend, Klauth. The Thayan would not elaborate on how he came to possess a vial of Old Snarl's blood; he simply described the ritual, from the placement of my young body on the altar to the mixing of Klauth's blood with mine via the wound made on my wrist. Strangely calm, I listened, not needing him to continue; I remembered each and every moment now that I stood in the shadow of the Great Wyrm's likeness. Seeing that I understood what they had done, the Thayan grinned a wry grin, saying, "And now, my dear, what has our experiment made of herself?" At that moment, I could feel the blood flowing through my veins with a power unknown to me until then. A low growl followed by a hiss permeated my mind, and my arms rose into the air, my mouth producing the words in Draconic, both actions without any effort of my own: "Behold what your magicsss have created..."

    Moments later, I emerged from the cave, clad in a hooded red robe with a small tome under my arm, its cover stained with a streak of fresh blood. Upon opening it, I noticed that much of its text was written in a language unfamiliar to me. After some research in Waterdeep, I came to understand this language as Draconic, the tongue of the ancient wyrms. With the aid of the owner of a magic shop there, I acquired several parchments with translations of simple Draconic, that I might learn the language and someday understand the scope of the Thayans' ritual, which no doubt was recorded in the tome I now carried.

    A final space, the following text running to the end of the other page facing you.

    With each passing day since my journey to Waterdeep, I am learning more about my heritage and about what the presence of the Great Wyrm's blood within me means. Today, I called to myself a young wyrm, which I named Malla. I have seen creatures like this following mages in the past. I understand them to be bound to the mages' wills, a direct extension of their life force. If that is indeed what Malla is, then I suspect I am becoming something I had never expected I could be. What this means for me I am uncertain, yet oddly enough, I am becoming more comfortable with this newly discovered piece of myself with each passing day…

    Before you can turn the page, you hear the voice of Penny Lane speaking to Barle over by the bar. Realizing this is her journal, you make your way out casually without anyone realizing that you had sat down to read it.


  • THE SACRIFICE

    As an icy cold wind swirls around the sleeping quarters at the gypsy camp, Penny tosses and turns in her sleep. Her day had not been out of the ordinary, although at this particular moment, anyone not knowing of her powerfully vivid dreams might think her restless from innumerable trials.

    The images came in short bursts.

    First…

    A lush green field... The sun shining brightly... Chasing after her sister Lillie and playing children's games while their parents talk with a roadside merchant near their caravan... Laughter filling the air...

    From the corner of her eye, a quick glimpse of three men dressed in blood-red hooded robes... Lillie tagging her and running off giggling, paying little attention to the men... A cold hand over her mouth and one around her waist... What should be a shrill scream stifled... A horrified look on Lillie's face as she darts toward the caravan...

    Next...

    A damp, musty cave... Restrained on an altar-top before a towering stone dragon, meeting its fiery, ruby eyes in a long gaze... A bright glow coming from them, as if the statue were alive... Torches to both sides casting a shadow over the wall...

    Then...

    Chanting from behind, an unfamiliar language... A sharp burning pain over her right wrist... A quick sideways glance... The sight of blood trickling from a knife cut... A cold, red liquid poured over the wound... Eyes shutting tightly and face contorting into a grimace... Muscles seizing, a burning feeling creeping through her veins... The fire from the torches flaring up as the statue's ruby eyes glow a bright crimson... A magical energy arcing from one outstretched hand of the statue to the other... A thunderous drumming roaring inside her mind... Her heart beating faster, a pounding fear in her chest...

    Now...

    A hiss... A growl...

    Finally...

    Her throat producing a gutteral voice that echoes from wall to wall... "I live."

    Awake...

    With a gasp, Penny sits up wide-eyed, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. She traces her fingers over the scar on her right wrist, trying to consciously drown out the sounds of drumming that continued to echo in her mind.

    Tha 'ell's 'appenin' ta me?

    Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she draws her knees up to her chest and folds her arms around them, as if trying to hold herself in a comforting embrace. Slowly, the drumming fades, giving way to a more familiar static, the white noise of her daily life. Releasing herself from her embrace, she stands, peering at herself in the small mirror lying beside her cot.

    Well, I seem normal. An' I don't ~look~ like I'm loosin' my mind…

    With that she dresses hastily and walks out into the cold morning air, strolling with a nervous quickness toward the camp's woodcrafting saw in the hopes that some morning work might calm her nerves and chase away the terrible feeling that stirred inside of her.


  • THE RESURRECTION

    _A fuzzy image…

    A cold wind sweeping through the Norwick graveyard as rain pummels the soft earth... A tombstone ahead... The earth at its base shifting slightly as the dirt turns soft and muddy... A lightning flash illuminating the night sky... A shadow cast over the tombstone... A hand forcing its way through the dirt and clawing at the fresh air...

    Then...

    A body crawling out from its prison of earth, shrouded in white... An old set of birdpipes clutched tightly in her left hand... Standing erect, the woman stares toward you, confusion and fear in her eyes as she pulls clumps of mud from her long pink hair...

    Awake..._

    Gasping, Penny sits up with a start, face pale and sweaty. Wide-eyed, she looks around, only to find herself in her familiar room in the Boarshead. With a sigh of relief, she wipes her face with the rag she keeps by her bedside before dressing and heading downstairs.

    Anotha dream darlin'. Jus' anotha dream. Calm yerself down, aye?

    Stepping outside into the cold air, Penny offers Frago a quick wave before heading south to the fire, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She sits by the fire with her back to the town, warming her hands before pulling her harp from her pack. She begins to play, the song streaming from the harp as she plucks the strings rapidly, though with an unusually delicate grace. Running her hands once more across the strings, she produces a range of notes before letting the music fade off into the distance, the echo slowly dissipating among the sounds of the Rawlins. No sooner does her song finish than the sounds in her mind contort into a harsh wailing. Closing her eyes tightly, Penny covers her ears and lowers her head, drawing looks of concern from those around her.

    Wha…? Who... who's there...?

    As she opens her eyes and stares into the fire, a cold chill runs down her spine and a feeling of presence washes over her. Her eyes widen, and she spins around, facing town. Slowly shuffling down the path, dressed in a dirty white robe, is a young half-elven woman, her long pink hair and tanned complexion further darkened by dirt and grime. By her hesitant, shuffling gate, one can tell she seems lost.

    "Li..Lil..Lillie?"

    The woman turns her head sharply toward Penny at the sound of her name. As their eyes meet, a flicker of recognition shines in Lillie's eyes. In Penny's mind, the sound of her mother's elven flute rises up along with memories of her sister: the days they spent playing in the fields near their home, the day Penny carried her slain body to its burial place in Norwick's cemetary.

    "P..Penny? Where..? How..?"

    Bounding up from her place by the fire, Penny rushes over to her sister, tackling her to the ground with a hug bearing the emotion of five years of grieving.

    "Lillie darlin'. I'd thought ya were gone forever. H…How tha 'ell'd ya... Is that really you?"

    Smiling happily, Lillie simply shakes her head. "I.. I don't know. There was a succubus in a desert place. I sang to her. I prayed for Tymora's favor. For how long I don't know. And then... dirt covered me. I nearly suffocating clawing my way out."

    Smiling more brightly than she had in years, Penny releases Lillie from the embrace and helps her to her feet.

    "Come darlin'. If it's really you, an' ya gonna be stayin' with tha livin' fer good now, we hafta git ya some decent clothes, aye?"

    With that they walk toward the tailor's shop, Penny keeping her attention focused on her sister the entire time. To this day, Lillie can be seen strolling the streets of Norwick on occasion, though her presence in crowds around the fire is limited. When asked about this, Penny merely smiles and says, "Darlin', if you'd spent that many years alone in tha fugue, you'd have some trouble 'round big groups too, wouldn't ya?"


  • VOICES IN THE NIGHT

    Crawling in my skin
    These wounds they will not heal
    Fear is how I fall
    Confusing what is real

    Penny awoke from sleep with a start, her bed at the Boarshead drenched in salty sweat.

    "A dragon lives there, lass. Big red one, named Rass…"

    In front of her,
    The outline of a dragon.
    Hissing around her.
    Echoes in her mind.

    There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
    Consuming
    Confusing
    This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
    Controlling
    I can't seem…
    To find myself again
    My walls are closing in
    (without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)
    I've felt this way before
    So insecure

    Her heart beats faster.
    The screech of a floorboard.
    Thunderous drumming.
    A gutteral voice.
    "Lisssten."

    Crawling in my skin
    These wounds they will not heal
    Fear is how I fall
    Confusing what is real

    "Do you know who you are?"
    Escalating drums.
    "Of courssse you don't."
    "Sssilly girl."

    Discomfort endlessly has pulled itself upon me
    Distracting
    Reacting
    Against my will I stand beside my own reflection
    It's haunting how I can't seem…
    To find myself again
    My walls are closing in
    (without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)
    I've felt this way before
    So insecure

    She holds her breath.
    A warm breeze on her neck.
    Eyes dart around.
    Is it gone?

    Crawling in my skin
    These wounds they will not heal
    Fear is how I fall
    Confusing what is real

    Penny slips out of bed, wiping her face with a rag that rests on her nightstand. The thunderous drums slowly fade and give way to the more disorganized static that she had grown accustomed to over the course of her life. Getting dressed, she starts down the stairs to the main floor of the inn.

    "Barle darlin', git me a glass a water if ya could please."

    Her voice less carefree and cheerful than usual. Her face a bit pale.

    Wrapping her cloak around her, she proceeds out into the cold morning air. She glances northward briefly before turning away and starting off toward the south fire, forcing herself to take solace once again in the static in her mind.

    There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
    Consuming, confusing what is real
    This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
    Controlling, confusing what is real

    Lyrics from Linkin Park's "Crawling"


  • She met me first! :evil:

    Great story, let me guess, the dwarf was Tagnar?

  • A

    bad Flomuxed, bad! shakes a stick at him :evil:

    now you get back to attention whoring your own threads…. and if it isn't too much trouble be sure to involve meee.... :oops:

    (sarcasm and done in the nature of good fun. and keep up the good work RoundHere!)


  • 😄 Keep it up. Now, get to the part where she meets..err..wait i have that title around here somewhere..ahh..here it is

    The Charismatic, Aristocratic, BloodAddicted BoyToy Extraordinaire!

    …

    😛