3. Bard No More

Bard No More


  • …and with dust in throat I crave
    Only knowledge will I save
    To the game you stay a slave
    Rover wanderer
    Nomad vagabond
    Call me what you will...

    He had sat patiently listening to the General tell of the return of Azagoth, the War Wizard he had stopped in Cormyr during his last days with the Elven Nations. He had thought he had killed him, slain him with his final blow before the mages spell hit him. He had been horribly injured during the fight, his energy and body drained greatly. The elves had came and cared for him, allowing him to regain his consciousness and showing him the fallen body of Azagoth.

    But it seems there was more at work there then they realized. The mage had stolen a piece of Zyphlin’s lifeforce, his soul, through an odd spell the Elves had never seen before. They had simply thought it a last ditch effort to kill him, but now things seemed different. Elven wizards had detected that the Wizard may actually be alive, in some facet, and working in Faerun. Though how, or where, they were not sure.

    The news came as a shock to him, and a cold chill took over his body. If Azagoth was alive again he would surely be looking for Zyphlin, for revenge…

    He had walked the streets of Suzial for some time that day, the note from Skyla in his head and thoughts weighing down his shoulders. He moved into the Inn he had stayed in some days before, back up to his room to his things. Picking up his armor he looked at it for a long time. His mind raced, his heart heavy, but he forced himself to focus. He had to decide then, where was he going.

    “I will go where my feet take me, I will travel, I will adventure, I will live and do good, and I will find myself. I will live. It is all I can do now.”

    He picked up his things, shouldering them. He went through the streets of Suzial, moving swifter and lighter then he had moved in what seemed like decades. He didn’t know if this was the right course, but he knew it was A course and that was something. He would return to Narfell, for the time at least. There were things to be done there in the short time he could concentrate on, and more so he had people that relied on him there, people he had made a promise to. A promise that’s importance and meaning became so much more as he looked back upon this trip.

    He knew he couldn’t face them yet though, the friends and the betrayers, he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready, but that did not mean he couldn’t help them, couldn’t watch out for them and the good of the land. He would stay to the shadows he had once known so well and had come to know once more, a dark angel guarding over his friends.

    He had gone to those that had saved him after the darkest moment in his life, that had pulled him from the street and given him another chance. He knew they would have a way to get him back, they had done the same for Robyn days earlier. The parting was short, but meaningful. There was a kindred between him and them, something deeper then most things in this world, and though they had only met for a tenday they were as siblings to each other.

    They had arranged for a mage friend to do the needed teleportation. Zyphlin tried to offer to pay for the service but the man simply smiled as he scratched his chin looking the bard over, and then shook his head telling him that no money was needed for this. The caster wove his magic around Zyphlin and for a moment all had went white.

    And now the whiteness vanished. He felt the sudden ice cold wind strike his body, chilling him to the bones. The brisk wind blowing against him, sending his long hair out behind him, as he looked around the all to familiar terrain. Reaching down to his side he produced his newly dyed helm and secured it on his head. This was his life, to learn, to adventure, to travel…at that moment he knew it was true, for now at least.

    With a small smile he took a step down the dirt road of the Nars, the first step back down the path of redemption.


  • _…just stuck hollow and alone
    and the fault is my own
    and the fault is my own...

    ...I will never know myself until I do this on my own,
    because I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed.
    I will never be anything until I break away from me.
    I will break away.
    I’ll find myself today...

    I want to heal
    I want to feel
    like I’m close to something real.
    I want to find something I’ve wanted all along
    somewhere I belong..._

    His thoughts were jumbled as he left the room with Robyn. The talk was an interesting one to say the least, and left a lot of unanswered questions in his head. What in the hells did it all mean, and how is his part in it supposed to be played out. She had said she was going back to Narfell, that she hoped she would see him there too, that everyone hoped that. But he just shook his head, running his hands up it and through the strands of his long hair. How could he go back there. How could he go back to that him. How could he go back and see her…

    But yet a little voice deep inside was there, a shining blue against the blackness that became his life. Looking at him with a knowing look and a smile that was known the country over in the land he once called home. And it just smiled and winked. “because you are their friend, because you are you no matter what any other does. And you have to realize that.”

    The basic message the Half-Elf Donovan had tried to express, but it couldn’t be true. He couldn’t let it be true. But his heart seemed to tug hard upon him stating that it was.

    As he entered the little room the elven woman that saved his life came up to him, a small smile upon her beautiful face as she regard him. Out before her was a finely sealed scroll case, the wax holding it shut was marked with an all to familiar brand to Zyphlin.

    “We got this from some friends, I think its meant for you.”

    Taking the note he moved over to sit for a moment, still dazed by all that was happening. He still needed to see who this elf was that was waiting for him but first was this scroll. Holding it in his hands he looked down, his eyes focused on that brand in the wax as it looked back at him as if it was a blazing fire. In a way perhaps it was.

    Finally he removed the seal, pulling out the note and reading it slowly.

    _”Dear Zyphlin,

    I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness. It isn’t the same in Peltarch without you there, nor has it been the same…”_

    His eyes poured over the words, his mind and heart taking in each word in different ways as he continued to read.

    “…Recently, two of the city’s senators have been assassinated, Senator Je’Lann and Senator Myrie. It is even suspected that the method in which they were assassinated was using the souldrinker, which we believe that Zargothis has now...”

    The color faded from his face and he felt a stab to his heart, deep and painful. It was the first feeling of pain for another, of empathy, he had felt since leaving Narfell. Even the death of the boy affected him in such a selfish manner, and this new feeling coming again for the first time hit hard, yet he continued to read.

    “…and I worry that he may do so again, in which case, my son must be protected. I would ask you to return to guard my son with me, please.”

    Gods, had he not heard such similar words decades before. The asking for such a favor, for such a promise. He silently cursed his goddess for her fickle ways of playing fate at times as a tear streamed down his face. He knew the name that would reside at the end of the letter but he read on anyways.

    _“Yours always,

    Skyla Vea’Draeven”_

    His hands clenched the scroll, anger swelling within him at the information and the implications it imposed upon him. A fire awoke deep within him as he looked upon the little hide out, letter clenched in his hand. It was just a small spark, but in time it would grow if allowed to.

    His head turned slowly, breathing out, as he began to calm slightly. He still had the elf to speak with, whoever it may be. He stood, moving in the direction the band had indicated he could find the elf. Coming to the door he grasped it the handle and went in. As the door swung open the elf turned, standing straight and regal, exquisite longsword within its scabbard along his side and the finest chain mail in all of Faerun upon his torso. Zyphlin’s eyes went wide, and his internal self muttered once more about the ironies of fate.

    “…General.”

    ”Hello Sir Requilais.” The elf stopped, looking over the near naked and dirty man. ”You seem to be…well, at least alive.”

    Zyphlin paid the glance no notice. He stood straight, his eyes on the elven General as he moved within the room. “I must admit General I am a bit shocked to see you. Its been what, seventy five, a hundred years?”

    ”Fifteen actually. I was the one that recovered you from the road not to far from here actually, though I departed shortly after it was assured you were going to be alright.”

    ”Ah yes, I had forgot, though I’m sure me not having been conscious to see you likely is the reason for that.” He said with some mirth in his voice but gave no chuckle that normally would’ve accompanied such a statement. ”You are the one that gave my declaration of freedom were you not?”

    ”That I was, though I had guessed that the current outcome would be the most likely thing to come of it.”

    ”So that’s it isn’t it. That’s why you’re here. To recover your tool.”

    ”You were never a tool Zyphlin. You did your task as any good agent wou-”

    ”Spare me General, I know what I am to the Nations and I have accepted that.”

    ”Have it how you wish. I have come for a few reasons, one business, one personal.”

    ”I never thought you to be a personal person General.”

    ”I have lived on this plane for six hundred years sir Requialis, there are many things you likely have never thought I was that I am.”

    ”Perhaps, but lets cut to the chase shall we. You’ve came to offer me job once more yes?”

    The general nodded slowly, ”That I have. If you take it we will be in Evermeet by the end of the day. Reeducation and training will begin within the tenday after you’ve had a chance to visit with your parents and any friends that may be there. You don’t seem quite in the form you were when you were an Agent for us, but you are close enough that training won’t take to long. Within a year you’ll be back out in the land working. There is some trouble brewing within Calimshan, a possible coalition between the Cyricists and Sharrians, as well as the recent surfacing of drow within Cormanther. There is even something we need looked into in the lands near where you were last residing, a possible race of elves we had lost contact with centuries ago. You’ll of course be outfitted in the best of equipment we have possible and we’ll get you to wherever you need to go.” With all this the General spoke plainly, no real emotion in his speech, the words of a man that had lived the life of the military for longer then any four human generals combined. Yet there was something off about, very slightly.

    ”But…? There is something you’re not telling me.”

    ”There is. Zyphlin, I have always had a bit of a soft spot within myself for you. It never fully sat right with what we did to you, the way we took advantage of what you are and pushed you into something I am not so sure you would’ve accepted with a bit more wisdom of age upon you. There is something more, but I can not rightly tell you this until you have made your decision. So you must tell me now, shall you come back to us and the Nations…or will you continue your travels?”

    There it was wasn’t it, that looming question that had haunted him for so long. How he had thought on it over these past months yet now it was there, in front of his eyes, and he wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes, and when he did he felt that little spark grow slightly, warming his body and his heart. He opened his eyes and looked back to the proud elven general.

    ”For over a century of my life I defined my life on the ideals of the Elven Nations. For the past decade I defined my life upon my friends and … And of the one I loved ... and the ideal of living some part in the play of life. In both I found only emptiness. I have only one place left to turn, and that is to myself and the road. I don’t know where it will lead me, or what I will find, but I know that it does not lead to the life of a Spy and Assassin.”

    ”Very well, then your service to the Elven Nations is officially ended. Now…beyond that I must ask you something. Have you been reading your journal for we have not seen a reply lately.”

    At this Zyphlin blinked. He hadn’t heard from the Elven Nations for nearly a decade, he had figured conversation was fully cut off with them. He didn’t even have the journal anymore, he had given it to Talgrath as a way to contact him encase he returned to the island. ”No, I don’t have it my possession any longer….why?”

    ”That was what I feared, and why I asked to come on this duty instead of a lower candidate. And this is where the personal aspect comes in. He’s returned…”

    ”What? Who’s returned.”

    ”Azagoth”


  • Wake me up inside
    call my name and save me from the dark
    bid my blood to run
    before I come undone
    save me from the nothing I’ve become

    "This can't be the guy we're looking for Darren."

    "I know he looks a bit messed up but he matches all the descriptions of him we've been given."

    "But come on, think rationally here. I mean gods, the guy looks like some gutter trash that got in a fight with a giant sized house cat. This is supposed to be the flamboyant well off guy the description said? It just doesn't add up."

    "Look Kerith." Darren grabbed the man, flipping the disheveled body over so the back was exposed and pointed down. "You see this tattoo. Inch for inch the perfect symbol of Mystra, down to the smallest detail and color. And hells, just tap into the weave. Won't take much to see the faint bluish red aura about him if you're actually looking for it. I'm telling you, this is the Weave Bound we were told about. I'm sure of it."

    "Look. Supposing if you're right, is he even still alive? I mean, I he has a pulse but its like saying a candle is a torch if you get my meaning."

    "Then we take him to see Seldrien, she'll be able to work with him if there's at least some life left in his body, and it seems like there is at least that. Thank Tymora's graces we found him this quick."

    "You really think this bum is the man they're all looking for?"

    "It all adds up. The description given with the note, the woman looking for him, and the elf we talked to. All knew similar information and it all gave a description pretty much of this man. And besides, does it really hurt anything if we heal him up and its not him?"

    "True enough. At least he's a skinny bastard, won't be to hard to carry." At that Darren let out a small chuckle and scooped the blonde man up onto his shoulder, draping him over his back.

    Kerith was about to stop his friend and tell him to be easy, but after looking at the man they found he realized that there wasn't much worse you could do to him in the condition he was in. Instead he simply kept his mouth shut, rolling one of his cigarettes and followed smoking it slowly on the crisp spring morning. "Denier, something tells me its going to be a long day."

    They moved through the back streets of Suzial that morning with ease. The two knew it well having spent the better half of the past decade navigating them. It had started with just the two of them but their little band had expanded to ten good men and women that stayed to the shadowed alleys and shady area's of Suzial to present a sense of balance compared to the dark deeds perpetrated there. Soon they reached their destination, knocking quietly but quickly against a plank door against the wall. It slip open and the moved swiftly in as the planks were replaced.

    They moved through their tiny little hideout, surprisingly well furnished and sized for being literally a hole in the wall, to the main room. Tinging through the hallways was the pleasant sound of a harp, being played by a rather talented dwarven bard. The tune was flawlessly played, up until the two humans entered into the room with the injured man. The dwarf's eyes opened slightly and his fingers became clumsy, missing a few key notes. "Oi, da fark 'appened to dat un?!" However they paid the dwarf no real attention, and the bearded man finally shrugged slightly and waved them off, going back to his playing muttering, "bah, weak bodied 'umans, me kin be'd up doin flips and chopin goblin's with little wounds like that." However despite the brash words he kept an eye on the happenings.

    The two sat the man down upon a table, looking him over, amazed at the amount of cuts and bruises upon his body and the deathly white tone of his skin. In a far off corner of their complex they could hear the elf that recently arrived in the city speaking with the crimson haired lady. A fair skinned elven woman came into the room from the other direction and saw the man upon the table, giving a small gasp.

    "Is he…is he the one we were looking for? By Mystra what happened to him! Is he even alive?"

    "Easy Seldrien, its him and he's alive. But barely," the shorter of the two humans, Kerith, said, "we need to get him help now. Can you see what you can do."

    "I still say he's just some dumb bum." Darren stated, though there was more concern in his eyes and voice then truth.

    Seldrien moved over to him, looking worriedly over the scared man. She ran her hands down his muscular torso, examining the wounds with a grim look. Finally she moved up to his neck, feeling the faint pulse there, and that at least gave her some hope. She had heard what this man was, the special nature of his birth and life. She would never perform a more important act for her goddess in her mind as saving this man's life. She prayed to her goddess, calling to her and asking Mystra to assist her in the healing of this man. She began the incantations of a spell, weaving the fabric that was Mystra's own being. As she did it she felt a wave of energy she had never felt before, a strange blue feeling going through her. She couldn't understand how it felt blue but yet at the same time she did. It was not just the weave she was touching, at that moment she was touching Mystra herself, touching the small piece of her that resided in this man. Feeling the momentum of the spell build within her, the energies rushing through her, and then it was there. The moment she needed, the strand that she crafted. Reaching for it she enacted the spell, spreading the weave over him, healing energies cursing through. His back arched as his feet planted and pushed up, his eyes flying open as a gasp of air escaped him.

    The two long time friends, Darren and Kerith, watched in amazement at what they were beholding. A array of swirling magical energies of blue, red, and purple were surrounding the elven woman, weaving around her like fine silken scarves. They could see the physical manifestation of her healing spell and watched as every cut and laceration upon the man's body miraculously vanished and the color burst back into his skin.

    Seldrien finished her casting, feeling suddenly drained she fell to a knee as Kerith rushed to her. The blonde man sat bolt up, his eyes wide, curious, and confused as he took in the situation. He realized he was nearly naked and in somewhere completely foreign to him. His mental alarms began to go off, his hands moving to his side for his missing weapons when he heard that voice...

    "Zyph...Zyph! Gods it is you, I can't believe it."

    He knew that voice but how, how could she have found him, more so how could she get here that quick. "....Robyn?"

    He turned and blinked a moment, still not fully believing the sight of one of the people he had once considered a friend in another life standing there in the flesh. "What are you doing here...?"

    His mind raced. He felt things begin to bubble up again, past thoughts and emotions he had thought he had gotten rid of these past tendays and months. Gods he wanted her gone, he wanted her away. He couldn't do this now, he wasn't ready, and yet at the same time he felt the blood rise above him, desperately wanting something he couldn't even fully grasp.

    "We need to talk. There's things going on that I don't fully understand right now and just..." She looked around, she knew the people were friends, understood it from the dealings with them since she arrived, but this was private beyond anything else. "Look, lets go speak for a moment in the back room. You all don't mind do you?"

    The others in the room shook their heads, simply watching the two, save for Dagern the dwarf. He stayed on his chair in the corner, head down, playing his harp the whole time. "Lad, der be a pointy eared man in de guest room dat says he need to be speakin wit a Mr. Requialis."

    Zyphlin nodded to the dwarf but didn't look his way. His cold eyes weren't on them, they were doing their duty, doing what they had been trained to do and had learned to do once more. They were focused on Robyn, her movements and actions, but primarily one one thing. The unsheathed blade to the side of her hip...

    He looked up at her, chill blue eyes meeting hers. "Alright, lets talk."


  • Things are not what they used to be
    Missing one inside of me
    Deathly lost, this can’t be real
    Cannot stand this hell I feel
    Emptiness is filling me
    To the point of agony
    Growing darkness taking dawn
    I was me, but now he’s gone

    It was a still dark night in Suzial. The streets were emptier then normal and the city was oddly calm. A chill wind for the spring swept through the myriad of alley’s and streets, into the houses and inns.

    Within one of those inns, upon the simple bed of one of its rooms, laid the dark bladed curved dagger that had been at the side of Zyphlin Re’cual for so long which now had a thin line of crimson down its blade. The same crimson liquid that coated the blade stained the thin sheets of the bed, dark stains of a dark act.

    Next to the bed, folded neatly upon a small desk, was a blue glowing fabric that would likely be recognized in a heart beat by the citizens of a far away city on an icy shore. Next to it resided a fine leather of a deep azure and black that the shadows seemed to dance along as if they were part of the garb.

    Hanging upon a hook above, attached to a simple belt, were two sheathed blades that had seen countless duals and had danced their deadly dance for the good of so many people.

    Upon the ground below was a simple looking bag hiding dozens of secrets, trinkets and notes that hid within them knowledge beyond what anyone would imagine was in such a tiny plain bag. And buried deep within that bag was a miniature yarting missing its strings, destined to never be strummed again.

    However the man who’s blood stained that blade and those sheets, that was so often seen in those outfits, that did so much good with those blades and hid so much knowledge within a tiny bag, was no where to be found in that room.

    He had brought the dagger down that night, slicing along his wrists and feeling the blinding yet revealing pain. He saw his blood begin to pour from his body with a mix of gratitude and horror. The pain danced in his head, teasing him as if it had something to say. The realization of what he was doing struck him as he felt the little warmth that was still within him begin to subside.

    What was he doing, was he thinking, this wasn’t the way. This couldn’t be the way, there must be something else. He tried to call upon his sensibilities, to call upon the good within him and his old memories, to show himself that this was wrong. And yet nothing was there, his subconscious reaching for that which was missing now, dead and gone. The despair within his heart, the agony and anger, fought against one of the most ingrained things that was forced into him, the need to survive and persevere.

    He had to think, he had to figure things out, but before that he had to stop this draining of his life’s blood. He called forth what strength he had left within him, causing the weave to ignite in positive energy, sealing the wounds for a time but not solving the lack of blood.

    He tried to orient himself but couldn’t, his legs weak, his eyes viewing the world as if it was covered in a murky film. He stumbled through his room, trying to find some reference point, when his feet struck a chair.

    The loss of blood ruining his sense of balance he tumbled forward, off balance, until he hit something hard. For a moment he was relieved, thinking he was fine; until he heard the smash, felt the sharp sting of dozens of cuts, heard the wind buffeting past his head. With all that he could muster he tucked himself, hitting hard against the ground as the pieces of the glass window rained down around him, and rolled with the fall. He heard a snap and felt a pain go through his shoulder before it went completely numb.

    He rose to his feet, dizzy and confused, hurt and alone, and forced himself forward. He moved within the shadows, staying within the cool embrace of the only companion he had his entire life. He moved like a man in a trance, not truly knowing where he was going but simply wishing to escape the pain, the feelings, all that which led to this.

    As he ran his body fought against him, lacking the blood for such an activity. Specters of his past woke up, the haunting and condemning faces from his dreams becoming a reality as he ran; Screaming at him, laughing at him, crying at him, pointing and jeering and swearing and dieing before his eyes and ears.

    ”You used us!”

    ”You lied to us!”

    ”You betrayed us!”

    “You killed us!”

    “This is your fault!”

    “You are evil! You are no better then those you are sent to stop.”

    “Liar!”

    “Thief!”

    “Betrayer!”

    “Murder!”

    ”Shut up, SHUT UP!” he screamed back at the nothingness of the night.

    He ran on, trying to escape the haunting images of his dreams, the condemning accusations of those that had passed, yet he could not outrun himself. He saw the faces of dead friends…or more accurately people he realized he would’ve been friends with if he had not just used them, used them as if they were a tool like himself...that he had met through his years as a spy. He saw images of his true friends, or those who had been his true friends in a life that seemed like eons ago now, being put to death and slaughtered, tortured and raped, killed before his eyes. And through it all he heard laughter, the same unchildlike laughter he had heard every night he had slept since his departure, following him, mocking him. And he heard his voice...

    ”You are a fool. A coward. You act as if you are so good, so holy, yet you and I are not to different are we? The only difference is, I’m not a failure and I can admit to what I am. That…and I’m the one still here and with her each night”

    "I am not like you! I'm not!" He lashed out at the air, his limbs loose and useless from the exertion, striking at nothing.

    He ran on, his eyes watering, his body slack, anger and anguish rising within him. He had fallen numerous times without realizing it and his torso and arms were teeming with lacerations and blood from the different rocks and trash within the alleys.

    He felt so alone, so weak, so helpless. His wrists burned as well as his head, yet he tried to continue running. To what, from what, for what? He didn’t know, he just needed to run, to flee, to escape…it seemed that was all he knew anymore, all he could do. His mind couldn’t focus, couldn’t see past the pain and the images. The damning images.

    He hit a large stone as he came down one alley, landing hard as he felt his head thud against the pavement. He tried to get back up, tried to call upon his will power, to keep going. But his body remained there, lying in the muck and trash of a back alley of Suzial as the darkness took him just as he saw the first rays of light begun to peek through the buildings at dawn.


  • The best writing is deeply felt.

    Great stuff Zyph. 🙂


  • Another good chapter..

    😢

    hugs


  • I love it,

    I love it,

    I love it.

    It sends chills down my spine.

    Poor Zyphlin… 😢


  • Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind
    Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind.

    _I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone

    He closed his eyes, feeling the cool crisp air flow over his body and through his long hair. He stood upon a hill he had been upon three decades earlier, looking out over the city he had looked at for the first time all those years ago. For a moment he thought back to that beautiful spring day, which he later realized was his first step to a possible real, honest, good life. But suddenly the crisp wind send a shiver down his spine, opening his eyes and making him realize that those times were now long gone.

    _All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity

    He moved away from the hill, continuing down the path to the capital of one of the greatest human civilization on Faerun. As he walked his mind wandered, thinking of all the different dreams that first started within his city. It was here that he first realized he would leave the Elven courts, that he would try to live a real life and grow old and have a family and be happy. All due to one little girl that spurred the change within him. However those thoughts felt so odd, so foreign now.

    _Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind.

    Perhaps they were foreign, for did he not realize now he had all but killed the man that had those dreams. He saw the image of the poor boy from Hillsfar that he held in his arms. The child which was the death proclamation of the Zyphlin Re'cual that was. Yes, those dreams were foreign, for they belonged to another now.

    _Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea

    He entered into the city now, seeing the bustling streets, the noises and smells of a city the size of Suzial. He had almost forgot what a city this size felt like. He walked along the streets stoically as he tried to find an inn for the night. He entered into one and upon entering it his heart jumped to his throat. A local bard within was having the majority of the bar busting a gut at a rather hilarious, though vulgar, song that he had known all to well. He heard another’s voice singing that familiar song and it hit him like he had just ran head first into a wall. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and continued on despite the desire of his feet to leave. It was just another song, like any other, it had no meaning, no memories associated with it, he assured himself of that.

    _All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

    He tried to stay with those assurances he was making himself think, but a sharp pain had swelled within him. As he walked through, hearing that song, his thoughts went past the last year or so within his old home. All the hints, all the clues, all those gut feelings that would have let him see the reality of what was happening in his life, yet he was to blinded by his love to realize it.

    _Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind

    And in the end it was his downfall. How things would've been different if he would've simply realized those clues. But he didn't, he continued on, and due to that all the things he had worked for in Narfell, all the possibilities seemed to have just blown away.

    _Now don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky

    He got his room and headed up to it wordlessly. He reached his room, slipping his top off and undoing the his weapons belt. He moved over to his bed, taking the dagger he had recovered from the vile cultists into his hand. He laid down upon the bed mesmerized by the razor sharp blade as he twirled it between his hands. He laid there now, a shell with no soul, no purpose, no person within. He had let the man that was within die and vanish but now, as his cold lifeless blue eyes followed the movements of the dagger, he realized that even that was pointless alone. Perhaps it was fate that the city he had started down the path to a new life in would also be the city he would take his final steps in as well.

    Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind_______


  • Indeed, very nice story.


  • Wow..

    That is such a good story, you are an amazing writer.

    😉


  • Nice story Zyphlin. Very nice.


  • _I feel irrational
    So confrontational
    To tell the truth I am
    Getting away with murder

    “Come now gather round gather round. I’m going to tell you all a story about the great wizard Elminster. Elminster of Shadow Dale they call him. Most powerful wizard in all of faerun! Well, kind of…I mean Manshoon was pretty strong I guess and the Simbul is legendary, and then there’s Szass...oh there I go getting myself carried away.”

    In the background the sound of bird pipes, just passingly able to be called “music”, begins to rise.

    “Anyways, getting back to what I was saying, this is a story of the great mage of Shadow Dale. Now you see this big evil warlord guy had taken over this city. And all these people in the city were hating it and being like ‘we don’t like this warlord’. And they complained and they fought back but of course no warlord doesn’t have an army, so when they started complaining the warlords army went and killed them all dead. Well, finally one got word to Elminster and him and his harper buddies came into that town and were like ‘hey, you can’t just come here and take over and kill people’. And the people all cheered....”

    Zyphlin finished the last half of his wine wincing at the story and the horrible scraping sound of the bird pipes. By gods nothing was worse then bad art. He’d rather see all the bards of this world die off then see them all become as crap as this one. He put in an order for another of the fine red elven wine and sat there a moment as the old bard droned on.

    “So zap went Elminster’s wand of electrifying doominess and the guards shook all jittery when it hit them and...”

    He felt like walking over and just telling the man to shut up, to close his damn yap and he’d get more applauds then he’d likely get if he finished the story. And then he’d want to look over to the twit playing the bird pipes and threaten to break it in half if he didn’t make that sound akin to the scraping of a sword against stone stop. And as these thoughts passed his head he paused a moment, a pain deep within him hitting. What was he saying, what was he thinking. There was a time he would’ve looked upon the good in these things. The way the musician at least had a good rhythm and just needed to practice his notes. Or how the wordslinger just needed to do a better job of keeping on point and using a bit more eloquent language. But he battered those thoughts back, letting them linger only for a moment. That was his old self, that was Zyphlin Re’cual, bard of the Peltarch Theater and protégé to the legendary Adam Bromley. That Zyphlin may’ve gave a damn, may’ve wanted to help the bards. This one simply wanted to make the agonizing sounds end.

    The serving wench came out with his wine and he took it gladly, taking a small sip as he stood. He had enough of the bar and figured being alone with his thoughts in his room was better then being amongst others here with these two bards. He realized now why some people stated that silence was golden.

    He turned to leave, putting down a few gold for his drinks, and headed towards the door. However as he turned to leave a rather large drunken man stumbled into him, spilling some of his wine onto his tunic. His hand darted to his side, grasping the hilt of the rapier there.

    “Hey there, sowwrie bout that mista. hiccup Dedn’t see yah standin dere.” He laughed drunkenly, clubbing Zyphlin along the shoulder in a rather hard but friendly manner. However the moment the hand hit his shoulder Zyphlin’s hand went out, hitting straight into the drunken man’s sternum. The drunk stumbled back and toppled over a table, falling to the ground with a loud crash. A few people’s head quickly toward to the situation but Zyph was already hidden under his cloak with the dweamor of his armor around him, staying low and moving quickly unseen out of the bar and towards his inn.

    Along the way he heard a young kid calling over to him, trying to flag him down. “Mister! Hey mister! Got a gold you can spare for a poor boy down on his luck and needing a smile from Tymora?” The kid smiled up to him, his hair shaggy and dusty, his clothes ragged save for a small copper coin with the symbol of Tymora upon it.

    “Get going kid. Find someone else to smile on you, I don’t have any hand outs.”

    “How about a game of chance then mister? I’ll flip a coin and if its heads you give me a few gold and if its tales I’ll give you all I got in my bag. How about that? Fair bet right, you look like a betting man?”

    “If I look like a betting man to you maybe you should take what you got in that bag of yours and visit the local cleric to cure your sight. Take your game of chance somewhere else and leave me be.”

    The kid looked up at him a bit longer then gave a sigh, wandering off to ask someone else. Zyphlin continued on down the road, sipping his wine and ignoring the things around him, simply wanting to get to his inn. His keen ears heard the kid ask the same line of questions to someone else and he heard something else. A threat to the kid? Something about just taking what’s in the bag? He shook his head saying to himself, “Just my ears playing tricks on me, and even if not, its not my problem.”

    He entered the inn, climbing the stairs to his room as he ignored the “hello” from the person at the front. He opened his door and dropped his bag and belt at the side of the bed before falling upon it, staring up to the ceiling. He let his eyes droop and close, ready to call it an early night, when he heard a scream come through his window. He bolted to his feet, scooping up his weapon belt and strapping it around him as his muscles went on edge. Was it the kid? “Couldn’t be” he thought, “you’re just getting yourself worked up. Sit down and let the guards do their job.”

    He sat back down, not undoing his belt but just sitting a moment as his mind argued with itself. The voice protested, urging him to stay, to ignore the happenings but in the end his feet ignored his mind and out the inn he went. They took him down the alleys of the city quickly, moving silently along the shadows that had became his dearest friend in those past tendays...well, the shadows and the wine.

    As luck would have it his feet traced their way back near where he met the boy. He slowly moved forward, the cloak over his head, into an alley near by. His eyes caught sight of a mass on the ground and quickly moved over to find the boy there, beaten and pummeled to death. He feel to his knee’s and heard the chink of his coin pouch, filled with hundreds of platinum. That damning sound reverberated through his mind as he looked at the poor young lad. The robbers took the small little bag he had and were so greedy for wealth they even swiped the kids copper necklace. Zyphlin moved his fingers to the child’s open eyes and gently closed them. He looked down at the murdered child and heard the chinking of his money...money he so greedily kept to himself for no real reason...and in that child he saw himself, or at least the self he knew in Narfell. It was then he realized that he had done to that old self what those thugs had done to this child.

    He felt a tear down his cheek and tasted the salty taste of them on his lips. It was then he realized he was crying, for the first time since the downward spiral of his life started those tenday ago. He sat on there in that alley, holding the dead child, and let the pain of it all finally come out._


  • _Its easier to run,
    Replacing the pain with something numb.
    Its so much easier to go,
    Then face all this pain here all alone

    He left Hoarsgate that night, the words of the half-elf haunting him as they played over and over in his head; “You’re a fool that lies to himself.” Could it be true, could the man have seen so clearly into him. Was this flight unnecessary? He shook his head, clearing his mind and continued on.

    It didn’t matter, that’s what he told himself. Rather it was lying to himself or not it didn’t matter, because it was just another lie on top of dozens. Lie or not he needed to get away from this land, to get away from the feelings and the pain. He had went slow at first, the bit of ties still pulling against him like the strings of a marionette. But now the need to flee increased within him. The longer he stayed the more the memories tried to pry back into his head he had tried so hard to shut tight.

    The pain caused by the woman…no, by the man, he could not truly hold the grudge against her but him, he was the one that took all away from him...was more then he had ever felt. More then any wizards fire or swordsman’s blade, deeper then the truest arrow and more lasting then a ogres dart. Nothing he tried to do made the pain go away. No amount of logic, of rationalizing. No amount of anger or sorrow. All he tried to cope with it seemed to do nothing to quell the flood of emotions. And so he did all he could think of, he went back to his training. He went back to shutting down all the emotions within himself and let him go back to being a tool.

    But a tool unused begins to degrade, and he was realizing that the defense from the pain would not go on much longer with how he was. So he picked up his pace, paying a large sum...as well as using a certain weapon useful for slaying lycanthropes, or so people joked...to acquire a horse with magically enchanted shoes.

    He had to just reach Cormyr. Once there he could get in contact with his home and arrange a portal back. They would take him openly, he knew as much. Ever since their acceptance of his retirement he could see in their eyes that they knew this day would come. The sarcastic glee hiding behind their dull eyes as he had said his intent. Mocking him, laughing at him as he spoke, teasingly saying “you will be back.” At the time he thought they were wrong...but it seemed now that their wisdom was greater then he thought.

    Spurring his horse on he sped forward with hopes of being out of Damara by day break._


  • So pardon me while I burst
    Into some flames
    I’ve had enough of this world
    And its peoples mindless games

    He was on his third glass of elven wine, savoring the taste and the small feeling of release it gave him. The inn had been growing in activity steadily over the past hour but he didn’t rightly care. He sat near the middle of the inn and there was not a table next to him that had a single person at it. No one rightly knew the man, but the general consensus of most of the patrons that night was to avoid the man like the plague itself.

    It was for this reason that Zyphlin was so surprised when the half-elf came over, sat across from him, and ordered an ale.

    The half-elf looked him over for a moment, smiling through the goatee so profoundly showing off the human part of his heritage, and scratched his chin a bit as he looked about for a moment. The wench was out with his ale then and he took it with a smile, leaning back as he fixed the collar on his tunic, and took a nice long swallow of the ale.

    Zyphlin watched all this, without much of a care at first but with growing curiosity as the man didn’t leave. “Can I help you with anything?”

    “The real question is is there anything I can help you with Mr. Re’cual.”

    “Well aren’t you just a little fount of information. Well the answer to the question is 'no' but, knowing that men that randomly sit down at the table of someone that is basically a stranger to them generally have a reason for doing it, I’m going to guess that answer doesn’t matter to much. Which in that case, just call me Zyph.”

    “Alright Zyph, fair enough. And since you seem to be a straight enough shooter I’ll level with you as well. I got a message from a few friends in Narfell to ask you to reconsider this little course of action you seem to be doing.”

    “Nice to know some care, but whatever you’re going to say isn’t going to matter much. I’ve made up my mind and I’m following my course.”

    “But why? So the bitch scr-”

    “Use the word for her once more and you will suddenly be missing certain parts that will make you fit the definition of it just as well.”

    The half-elf gave a little chuckle. “Fair enough. Either way, as I was saying. So your woman screwed around on you, so what? People have had it happen to them for years now. They say the oldest institution in Faerun is that of marriage, and they say the oldest sin is adultery. Gods know you’ve had to have worse done to you before? You’re leaving a place you could do some real good at. Hells, they said you were on your way to becoming senator of a city desperately needing another good soul in the government. So why go to this extreme over some girl.”

    Zyphlin simply looked at the half-elf, his face cold and impassive. His ice eyes emotionless as he listened to the little speech that he guessed was supposed to get him to come back. “There is more to this then any of the people that considered what they saw of me a friend will probably ever know. I was living a life that was a lie, was trying to play a pointless game that I was doomed to lose since the beginning. I was a fireball with a delay upon it and it was just waiting for the proper time to blow. I tried to ignore the little tiny red bead floating in my head, to ignore the fact that in the end something would come crashing down, but in the end you can’t ignore that which is there.”

    “So that’s it? All you did the past decade? All that you could do for decades later? All of that and you’re just walking away because of some abstract bullshit?”

    “No. I’m tired of playing the games. The good I could do is no more and probably even less then anyone else there could do. I was a fake that could never truly play his part. I finally got burnt for trying, there’s no reason to keep playing.”

    The half-elf simply shook his head, the jovial smile of earlier slipping away “Well, I have to say, you’re nothing like what your friends told me you’d be.”

    “I’m not the same man they knew.”

    “So it seems. You want me to tell them anything?”

    “Tell them I’m sorry, and I’ll miss them. And tell them to be the hero’s I had hoped I could someday be.”

    “You still can.”

    “A lie can’t be a hero, no matter the great things they do.”

    “And you are a lie?”

    “Yes.”

    The half-elf shakes his head. “No, you’re not a lie. You’re a fool that lies to himself. You have it in your head that the past is what defines a person. That there is some thing inside you or about you that is so horrible and so you had to play some part like an actor in a play. Well guess what. Life isn’t a play, and how you act isn’t a part. Its who you are. Maybe you acted differently then you used to, maybe you lived your life in a different way, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t you. It means you changed, you learned, you grew. Its called humanity. The only reason you think you were living a lie is because you want to believe it. You say you’re done with games but you play one with yourself now.”

    Zyphlin looked at the half-elf a moment, the cold blue eyes taking him in as he processed the words. Could it be true, could this man he’d never known in his life see right through him that easy? He didn’t think so but still…

    “Any other fancy little speeches you feel like giving me or can I finish my wine and get some sleep before the sun actually comes up?”

    The half-elf gave a little sigh and then chugging down the last quarter of his ale he stood. “Just think on what I said. I’ll tell your friends what you wanted me to, but I doubt they’ll accept it. They’re a persistent bunch.”

    Zyphlin didn’t respond aside from simply taking a sip of the wine. The half-elf shrugged, putting the mug back onto the table and fixing his collar again, and walked to the door.


  • Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past,
    Bringing back these memories I wish I never had.

    _He walked down the road that day with a smile on his face though he had a tinge of sadness in his heart. He hated to leave, to go away from that smiling face he had grown to love so much. That little spark that set him in this direction. But he knew he had to go. He had waited for to long already, longer then he normally would’ve allowed himself. But then she had a way of making him do things he would’ve scoffed at in the past.

    Lathander’s light was shining down upon him that day, warming him to his bones and lighting his path. Yes, he had waited a bit to long but maybe for the better. “After all,” he thought, “traveling under a great day like this when the sun looks like Tymora’s very own coin is better then trudging out through the rain that was present the past few days.”

    He pulled out a coin, flipping it high into the air as he watched little gleams of light reflect off it. Catching it he quickly sent it back up, walking a bit while flipping the coin, taking in the gorgeous terrain all around him. Rolling hills of the brightest green, the smell of spring floating upon the air, the azure colored sky’s with majestic birds soaring over head. He noted one in particular, a dark golden colored falcon swooping through the air. He gave a small smile, nodding pointlessly up to the animal in a strange form of mutual respect, then reaching to his side he produced the fine silver flask given to him by his elven mother before departing Evermeet. He brought it to his lips and took a quick swig. Just as the sweet evermead touched his lips though a blinding pain shot through him, ripping through his body and bringing his hairs on end.

    “Zander, Zander, Zander,” the man let forth a small snicker from behind him, “I can’t begin to express how wonderfully glad I am to see you this day.”

    He realized then that the lightening bolt that struck his body had laid him flat on his stomach. “Gods, why hadn’t I heard him. Why hadn’t I been more aware.” He shut himself up quickly, it was no time to let his mind go flying like that and more so he knew exactly why this happened and it was his own fau-

    A boot came down hard on his back, breaking his thoughts and knocking the bit of air he managed to get back in. The mage smiled down wickedly, seeing the meddling mercenary underfoot.

    “How I tittered when I saw you were still here. I had thought I had lost my chance for at least getting revenge upon you for all the trouble you caused. But no…I guess luck was in MY favor this time you snot nosed whelp. You may’ve stopped my rise to lichdom and the crown, but you will not deprive me of the pleasure of at least ending your miserable meddling life.”

    He heard the wizard beginning to cast and knew he only had one shot to get through his. He felt the stirring of the caster upon him, going through the delicate movements of the arcane. The moment the pressure relented he rolled, throwing the mage off balance slightly, and kipped up. Spinning to face the mage, rapier coming free from the sheath, he caught the faint smell of sulfur. Springing to the side into a roll the fireball launched from the caster across from him singed the ends of his cloak but nothing more. He was up in an instant, sprinting diagonally away, trying to gather himself, scolding himself for waiting so long.

    “Run all you want, you look like nothing more then a frightened deer mercenary. All the running will do you no good. When this day ends I assure you I will have ceased your feet for good.”

    “If you want me shut your mouth and let’s be done with this! You know, you’re a lot of damn talk for a guy that just had a ‘snot nosed whelp’ ruin a decade’s worth of planning. You got lucky with the lightening bolt when I wasn’t looking, you should’ve made good on your one chance.”

    Just then five bolts of magical energy slammed into him. He turned into the bolts, taking them with a small grunt and closed eyes, then darted for the mage muttering to himself. “Maybe I should’ve taken my own advice.”

    Trying to stall the charging mercenary the wizard pulled forth a fiendish wolf from an extra planar realm. However he had the mage in his sights and was going to make sure this ended here and now. The wolf leapt at him, claws and maw out front ready to take him. In a blink he stopped, twisting at the waist and knees and lowering himself just out of reach of the leaping wolf. Stabbing up with his rapier the fine blade pierced the gut of the wolf, its momentum sending the blade along its underside. He was standing and charging again at the mage before the wolf fully realized that its life was just ended.

    The distraction was enough for the wizard though. Hands moving quickly, working the weave, he sent forth a specter of dread at the charging mercenary. The magic struck, but the mercenary continued forward to the sudden horror of the mage.

    “How?!”

    “I’ve live each night with worse nightmares then you will ever be able to conjure forth”

    He drove forward then, rapier leading, aimed squarely for the neck of his foe. The mage got his staff before him, turning the blade away. The mercenary didn’t relent though, bringing the sword back to bare he continued the assault to the mage, taking advantage of his inexperience with such melee. Slowly he played the defenses of the mage like a bard would a lute, plucking at the openings, teasing it, setting him up. Finally he saw his opportunity, feinting out wide to left. The block from the staff came as he had expected and set for, letting the extra force take his blade and assist his movement as he spun, bringing the blade with him in blinding speed. He stabbed up, coming in to the right of the mage now, as the tip of the rapier pierced through his side straight into his heart. He stood there, seeing the shocked look of the mage as blood begin to bubble to this mouth. Pulling the rapier free he let the mage drop, looking down upon him as the battle lust finally began to subside. With weak knees he turned as the mages eyes closed. He had waited to long, but he got lucky...he wouldn’t make the mistake again. It was time to leave.

    “It...can’t end...like this.”

    He turned as he began to speak, “I don’t really give half a shit if you like how its en-”

    His eyes caught the black aura growing around the mage. Noticed the hands, badly shaking yet moving swiftly all the same, spinning the spell. The aura coalesced into a single sphere and shot forth, striking the mercenary in the chest. The pain was worse then he’d ever experienced. He fell to his knees as he felt like the dark magic was wrenching his soul from him. He saw the mage give one last cold dieing laugh and then the world went black._

    “Sir. Sir! Here’s the elven wine you ordered….is everything okay?”

    He looked up, seeing the pretty young bar wench with the glass. He shook the thoughts form his head, not realizing he had zoned out so much. He quickly flashed a dashing smile to the young lass and gave a small charming chuckle. “Sorry, mind was just wandering a bit. Thank you for the glass though beautiful, how much do I owe you?”

    The young lass’s cheeks went crimson and she gave a little smile “Don’t worry about it, its just such a change to get a nice polite customer in here. If you need anything else you let me know okay?”

    “Of course love, this should do for now though.”

    She went off beaming. He could hear the laughter as she relayed what happened to the other wenches back in the kitchen. He didn’t really care though. He let the smile fade and took a sip of the wine, closing his eyes, and returning to his thoughts.


  • _And be a simple kind of man,
    Be something, you love and understand
    And be a simple kind of man,
    Won’t you do this for me son, if you can

    “Come sit beside me, my only son
    And listen closely to what I say.
    And if you do this
    It will help you some sunny day.”

    He let the words roll off his tongue, the notes of the melody breaking through the crisp morning air. His mind raced as he sang, not truly even aware he was there. His fingers moved unconsciously, strumming the cords he had put together causing a sweet sound to escape the yarting.

    “Take your time… don’t live too fast,
    Troubles will come and they will pass.
    Go find a woman and you’ll find love,
    And don’t forget son,
    There is someone up above.”

    He had slept horribly the night before, the dreams finally returning and even worse then usual. Now along side the hundreds of crying faces that accompanied his sleep each night was a new face, the one person who had ever managed to allow himself to break through those dreams he had had for near five decades now. And in her arms was held a child, looking at him, and with a face so unchildlike it chilled him. The newborns eyes were filled with intellegence and it watched him, smiling the wickedest smile ever to grace the face of man. And its eyes met his and it laughed, and its laugh rose higher then all the cry’s of agony and betrayal coming from the normal residents of his dreams.

    “Forget your lust for the rich man’s gold
    All that you need is in your soul,
    And you can do this if you try.
    All that I want for you my son,
    Is to be satisfied.”

    He had wrote the song the night after she told him the news. He awoke that morning, stretched, and then stopped for a moment, simply looking at the wall in utter shock. It was then he realized that he had slept the night without a single dream. He had slept without a single old face haunting him, accusing him, condemning him. For the first time in fifty years Zyphlin Re’cual had been free to sleep the sleep of a man at peace. He went off into the hills he knew so well now, and looking at the sunrise over the Icelake he had let his heart come out on paper.

    “Boy, don’t you worry… you’ll find yourself.
    Follow you heart and nothing else.
    And you can do this if you try.
    All I want for you my son,
    Is to be satisfied.”

    He had hoped to give it to Gildor once he had finished it. He hoped it would cheer her up a bit. He didn’t understand at the time why she seemed so off set by it all, though originally he just chalked it up to the shock of things. He wanted badly to tell her that his dreams had left him, that she had helped him finally move beyond his past, but he waited. He wanted to finish the song for her first. Now he sat, staring off into a sunset like the day he had wrote it. He felt a tear roll down his cheek but continued all the same, his voice steady and his fingers spiderlike.

    “And be a simple kind of man.
    Be something you love and understand.
    Be a simple kind of man.
    Won’t you do this for me son,
    If you can?”

    Finishing the song he closed his eyes, clenching his hands slightly as he sat the yarting down. Taking the papers from his bag he looked at them a moment, his eyes seeming as if they would burn straight through the paper, and then finally ripped it in half and sent the pieces to float forever amongst the debris of the Icelake. He sat, looking over the side, and let his hands move to the yarting. With the ease of a practiced professional he unstrung the magical instrument. Standing he moved back to his room, a bard no more._


  • _Life it seems, will fade away
    Drifting further every day
    Getting lost within myself
    Nothing matters no one else
    I have lost the will to live
    Simply nothing more to give
    There is nothing more for me
    Need the end to set me free

    Lost.

    For the first time in his life Zyphlin Re’cual felt truly and fully lost.

    He looked out over the side of the ship as the icy blasts of the wind come up off the frozen lake to spray harshly against his face. Still, he remained, looking off the side, looking back to the city he had turned his back on. The life he had turned his back on. He turned his head, looking off the other way. To the west, but beyond that he felt nothing but

    Lost.

    His mind went to all those he had met that past decade. The friends, the brothers, even the common folk, but not the lovers. He couldn’t bring himself to think of those just yet. The many battles beside soon to be legendary warriors on the hill outside Peltarch, the nights of stealthing through the cold caves with the greatest of shadow walkers in Narfell, the nights of song and story out by the fire in Norwick. The nights of drinking in the Mermaid and talking with Talgrath or the days of sitting in the commons talking politics. The thoughts all swam through his head as he looked over the side, ignoring the crewmen around him as he sat, thinking and realizing that all those memories were now

    Lost.

    He had strived to find his redemption. To move on past the horrors of his past, the ill deeds no matter the reason they were done, and live the one life he ever truly wanted; a real life, a human life, a happy life of good. It finally seemed to be coming together, everything working out. He would’ve won the senate race, at least one seat, he was almost sure. He had so many wonderful friends. He had thought he was to be a father. He was ready to have become the husband to a woman he loved dearly and showed him how wonderful a real life could be and how one could move beyond what they used to be. But that lesson she taught him by her actions was shattered in one fail stroke, he was broken in one fail stroke, and all those dreams were now simply

    Lost_