3. Broken Shards

Broken Shards

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    ((Decided to post this for those of you who missed one of the shows, or if you missed all the shows, or if you want to read it again 😛 Enjoy!
    For those of you who have no idea what this is, this is a story that my bard, Anconia, wrote and performed in six shows in the Peltarch Theater, this story is considered fiction IG, and is not…eh...directly the story of any characters IG, Enjoy!))

    ((Edit: Grammatical errors, etc))

    Broken Shards

    Part One

    In a land far off from here, there lived a maiden. This was no ordinary maiden, nor your ordinary beautiful maiden. Her eyes were a radiant blue like two sapphires set in a ring. Her hair was elegant lavender, her skin a soft and pearly vanilla white, silky to the touch. Her name was Aya.

    What made her so unusual? Was it her smile that brought warmth even to the darkest and most depressed soul? Was it her shining eyes that could light up the darkest parts of the Underdark? Was it the way she flowed along any street she walked, her beautiful, crimson-colored robe dancing along at her feet? No friends. It was her compassion, her loving, kind, gentle spirit, almost as if she were magical herself. Perhaps she had a bit of dryad in her blood, I was never given the opportunity to know. Her friends meant more to her than anything.

    Her best friend, the one she cared for more than any other around her, the one she shared her deepest secrets with, her fears, her likes and dislikes, her mysterious childhood, the one who cared for her more than any other around him, his name was Darrian.

    Darrian was a great warrior. Uncountable myriads of his enemies had fallen to his blade. Unequaled in combat, unequaled in strength, Darrian had had the blood of his enemies splattered and dumped on him from head to toe, collar to greave, gauntlet to gauntlet. Darrian had watched his friends die painful, agonizing deaths, doing all he could to fight off the attackers. He had seen friends crushed between the Elders of Air and Water. He himself had fallen to terrible fates, knowing the most excruciating pain. He had fought and had been shredded by vicious Slaadi, alone, to save a town. He had fought terrible highwaymen to save his friends, falling to their spells and pierced by dozens of arrows. He was swarmed by hordes of unrelenting Walking Dead, tortured by demons, and punished by the most horrid of curses. Yet each time he fell, he was blessed. The gods smiled upon him as much as his friends did, and each time he was returned to life. The warrior was fierce as a flame in battle, and as tough to subdue. However, all warriors, no matter how hardened by battle and conflict, all have a weakness. Our fair maiden was his.

    On a beautiful, sunny day, the two decided to take a trip into the woods to visit a fair friend of theirs. They traveled south into the forest. They came to where their friend usually rested, being a man of the woods as he was; he enjoyed the beautiful grove in which he lived. The trees around them were tall and spectacular, and in that crisp autumn, as it were, leaves lazily fell from their branches and drifted down to the ground around them. Their friend was not home, but they enjoyed the calmness of the woods and stayed there for a while, striking up a casual, innocent conversation. As night fell, the sun dipping below the horizon, leaving the last of its golden rays behind, the conversation grew quiet as they gazed into each other's eyes. The kiss they shared was tender, gentle, and passionate. The simple union of their lips spoke a thousand words or more. No words were needed to explain the spark between them.

    They lived together and loved each other for a year, the happiest year they had had for a long time. Troubles all around them both, they sought and found comfort and happiness in each other's arms.

    One day, he showed up. He was a very mysterious mage. She could not explain it. There was something about the man she could not resist. An elf with flowing robes of crimson and black as dark as night, his trusty bird always perched on his shoulder, gazing eerily at everyone who passed by. Although he was quiet most of the time, and rarely around, when she was with him, she could not resist him. When they were apart, she could not resist him. Even when she was with Darrian, she could not put him out of her mind! Oh how she could not explain it! Two men! One was her closest, dearest friend who loved her deeply, the other merely a mysterious mage with something about him. She struggled with her thoughts for weeks, torn between the two, her soul craving both, yet unable to choose. Thoughts of both raced through her mind like a hurricane day and night, and she knew that either way she went; it would end in sorrow and loss. To leave Darrian, to leave what she knew best, what she feared most of losing; she knew she could not bear it. Yet she could not ignore Daemeon, the mysterious mage whom she craved and thought of day and night.

    Finally, after weeks of torture from her own mind, she made her decision.

    He could not bare the pain of losing her, they had been so close, he cared for her so. Tears welled up in her eyes as she told him her choice, tormenting both of them.
    "Why?" he asked as the large tear that had formed at the corner of his eye, clinging on as if its life depended on staying in that very spot, began to slowly slide down his cheek, as if life was being slowly sucked out of it.
    "I cannot pretend to love when I don't." she answered in a terribly weak voice.

    He could not bear to be there then, to watch her be with the other man. He packed up his things and left the gates of the small village where they lived.
    "I will always be there if you're in trouble" Darrian whispered to her as he lightly kissed her on her head before leaving the town.

    Part Two

    Years passed by. Slowly, time swept him away from the town; his name and his deeds were forgotten eventually. Aya, however, never forgot him. He was tucked away in the back of her mind while she lived with Daemeon. Although it was cold, dark arms that were wrapped around her at night, she loved him dearly and did not see his true nature. He worshipped a great demon and was soon planning to destroy everything that stood in his way, including Aya, if she objected. She did not know this, nor did she ever suspect it. As time marched on, the day drew closer and closer, when Daemeon would summon his demon lord and create his connection to this plane. No one suspected anything. No one was onto him. No one even knew about the dozens of innocents he had kidnapped and burned to ashes. Although these poor souls were mourned for, it was always suspected that each and every one fell to the dangers that lurked outside the comfort of the town walls. Weeks withered into days, which in turn withered into mere hours before the moment of triumph for the Mage. As the day drew closer, he began to hint at it to Aya, and was always acting a bit odd around her, a very strange, almost twisted smile upon his face at all times of the day.

    As for our Warrior? He was heading back to the town for the first time since he left.

    The day came. They slept together in each other's arms, she had a warm, loving smile on her face as she curled up in his cold, icy embrace, he a wry, sinister smirk. Most mornings they drew back the curtains to watch the sunrise from their tower upon a high cliff overlooking the great lake near the town. This morning, there was no sunrise. She glided out of his arms to open the curtains, and a terrible storm greeted her from the other side of the window. Dark clouds as black as night filled the sky, bolts of lightning the color of blood jumped between the clouds, often racing to meet the ground. The cold air chilled her nude body, and she jumped back in bed, into his arms, into that false sense of warmth she thought was so real. He watched the storm with glee; she watched the storm while running a hand through his hair. They rose and dressed, he with absolute joy on his face at the coming day, she with absolute joy at being with him. She made their breakfast and ate together as they planned their day.
    "Aya, I'm going to be busy later this afternoon."
    "Oh? With what?"
    "Some business. Maybe you can help me."
    "I'd love to help you, what is it you have to do?"
    "You'll have to wait and see." He said, the smirk still on his face, growing wider with each spoken word.

    There was no warning. At noon, the rain stopped, but the clouds remained in the sky, the blood-colored lightning still dancing and threatening those on the ground. For an hour, it was silent in the town. No one spoke. Abruptly, a flash of red light appeared by the Commons followed by two columns of flame. Daemeon appeared between the two columns as Aya looked on, a bit surprised and curious.
    "Perhaps he has a surprise for me! Oh I love it when he surprises me!" She thought, a giant smile on her face as she looked at him.
    He looked at her for a brief moment, a glint of something she had never seen before was in his eyes. He began the summoning, chanting the incantations and carving the runes in the air with his hands. She looked on, applauding his show and giggling gleefully, still unsure of what he was doing. A shroud of pure darkness enveloped the commons, and yet she continued to laugh and cheer him on, enjoying what she thought was a simple magic show. The muted screams did not reach her, the blood splashing all over the commons was not seen by her, the inn and smithy burning to the ground, fire raining from the sky, blood-red lightning striking all around the town…she did not notice any of it in the darkness.

    Part Three

    The demon was summoned. He was tall as a dragon and twice as ferocious. The local militia took up arms, the elves grabbing their beautiful longbows and fighting valiantly against the monstrosity overrunning their town. Their arrows were skillfully aimed at the joints in the demon's armor. Volley after volley of arrows flew at the terrible atrocity, the elves fighting with grace, honor, and strength. However, it was not enough. The demon tore them to shreds even as they stood to make their vigilant stand and defend the town they loved.

    At the time, a valiant, brave dwarf sat at the bar in the Inn, quietly enjoying a bottle of ale, his beautiful, enormous axe that he forged from the finest steel rested next to him. It had seen hundreds of battles, and beheaded thousands, all in the name of Moradin. When the demon smashed a wall of the inn, he was not one to sit idly by. He called to Moradin for aid in battle, finished off his glass of ale and grabbed his giant axe. The demon laughed at the dwarf, thinking him a mere nuisance to crush and move on with his task, however he was far from the truth. The dwarf shouted a war cry in the name of Moradin and charged forward, axe raised high, preparing to swing with the strength of a giant. The battle between the two raged on for some time, the mighty axe proved to be more than a mere nuisance to the horrid monstrosity. However, the demon got the best of the dwarf and defeated him with a final, fatal swing of his flaming blade.

    When the shroud cleared, Aya screamed. Her friends lay all around her, torn to shreds. The town lay nearly in ruins, and a giant demon was standing in the flames, his armor blacker than night, his sword of fire resting easily on his shoulder while he laughed at the destruction around him. She looked at Daemeon, fearing for her life, and ran to him. He turned around and looked down at her carelessly while she trembled like a child in his arms, begging him to do something. The demon laughed at her and asked in a tongue that sent chills down her spine if she was to help them. Daemeon cackled and looked at her.
    "Aya, how would you like to be the most powerful woman on Toril?"
    She stopped crying and looked up at him, petrified.
    "Wh-what??"
    The demon laughed and congratulated Daemeon on keeping such a great plaything alive for entertainment. She began to scream at the top of her lungs, her voice bouncing off the hills and the rubble around them as Daemeon carried her off to the burning Temple of Lathander, its roof partially collapsed and burning, the church bells still swinging in the wind, ringing loudly for all to hear.

    Part Four

    Darrian reached the gates of his old home. He saw the smoke from the flames and rushed in to find the town in ruins. Those he once called friends were scattered all over the ground, the church bells ringing doom in the distance. A figure was standing in the gloom, surrounded by the destruction he had brought. Darrian drew his blade and approached the figure.
    "'Ey! Ye! What the HELL is goin' on 'ere!?"
    The figure turned around and looked at Darrian, his dark, fiery eyes glowing in the gloom, he began to chuckle.
    "Why, what does it look like?"
    "Aw shut the hell up before I kill ye damn it! What the fark is goin' on here!?"
    The demon growled, his fiery eyes glowing bright in the gloom, visible from behind his helmet, and leaped towards Darrian, his sword of fire raised high above his head, the flames licking the air. The warrior jumped out of the way and swung his sword high and struck the demon's night-black armor. The demon rolled aside and sprung up on his feet again. Snarling, he pounced and swung, flames pounding against Darrian's shield. They traded blow for blow, swing for swing, thrust for thrust. They battled into the early hours of the morning, neither gaining much ground, few attacks successful. The sun was still asleep, the only light coming from the flames of the burning town and the demon's sword, the sounds of battle backed by the solemn ringing of the church bells in the distance. The warrior jumped back and paused in his assault, panting heavily, his charred and shattered armor clinging onto him as he glared at the demon, looking directly at the two red lights staring back at him from behind the darkened and smashed helmet. The demon looked back, his black blood dripping down the side of what was left of his breastplate. His armor had been torn away and shredded, exposing his blackened skin as tough as his armor. They stared at each other for what may have been an eternity, the sun refusing the rise, the church bells refusing to silence themselves. Darrian roared a battle cry into the night, breaking the deafening silence, and charged forward, sword raised, a fire in his eyes more fearsome than the demon itself, two pools of fiery rage lighting up the ground before him. The demon raised his fire blade high and prepared to strike, delivering the final blow.

    When the dust settled, one figure was standing, looking towards the sound of the church bells in the deep of night. There was no time to tend to his wounds. Darrian fiddled with his armor, recovering as much of it as he could, tossed his shattered and broken helmet aside, and began running for the temple.

    Part Five

    Darrian entered the great hall of the once-magnificent temple to find Daemeon standing at the altar, arms outstretched and hands raised high above his head into the air. Aya was sitting on the ground, a large chain around her neck, the other end tied to a post. Her beautiful sapphire eyes now glowed a dark and violent red of pure hatred and evil. Her beautiful lavender hair, now a dark and charred black, hung over her face like a stage curtain pulled back at the start of a show. Her eyes fell on him and she began snarling, leaping up and trying to charge at him, her pearly white teeth barred. She reached the end of her chain and was yanked back, choking her violently. Darrian saw her neck was red and bloody from the chain rubbing and gnawing away at her beautiful skin. He looked at her with horror as she clawed and snorted furiously, trying to leap at him, only to be jerked back by the restraining chain. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, unable to endure the sight, and looked away.

    Darrian turned his attention to Daemeon, fire in his eyes.
    "Alright ye bastard! What did ye do to her!?"
    The wizard turned around, laughing at the warrior, mocking him.
    "Why," he began, "I figured you would have been dead by now. You used to live here didn't you? Yes, all those years ago…She talked of you so often at first! I-…"
    "Shut the fark up and tell me what the hell is going on here!"
    The mage laughed and shook his head lightly, speaking in a casual, almost giddy tone.
    "My my, I would think a pathetic warrior would at least mind his manners, if not anything else. Would you like to speak with her?"
    At that moment, he reached over with his blade and broke the chain. Immediately, Aya bounded towards Darrian and pounced on him, knocking him flat on the ground. He threw her off and grabbed her arms fiercely, struggling to keep her from overpowering him. She writhed in his arms and snarled, trying to bite him. As they locked arms, the mage stood back, cackling as he began to mutter incantations. A deafening boom filled the air, loud enough to block out all other sound around the three. Aya immediately stopped struggling in Darrian's arms, and fell limp. He jumped up and whirled around, sword and shield ready.

    Part Six

    He charged forward, blade high in the air, the light from the flames around him dancing off the edge of the sword. The struggle that followed was so spectacular, I wonder even today if the gods stopped what they were doing to watch these two mortals fight it out. Spells flew in every direction, energy of every color dazzling as they flew towards the warrior, fireballs jumping from the mage's hands; all the while the warrior's shield deflecting what it could, his sword retorting for every spell cast. Every slash of the sword was met by a spell. Finally, Darrian gained ground. Daemeon was knocked flat on his feet, exhausted, bleeding, and running out of ideas. Panting and bleeding just as much, Darrian rose his sword high in the air, ready to bring it down upon the Mage's neck. As the warrior's sword flew to meet Daemeon one last time, he began to cast a final spell. The blast of dark energy slammed into Darrian's weakened armor, piercing through charred metal and skin. He screamed out in sheer agony, even as blade met flesh, separating head from body.

    She awoke from her restless slumber and found him kissing her. She opened her eyes and responded to him, returning the kiss with love and passion. He was leaning over her as she laid flat on her back upon the ground, his elbows barely supporting him, blood dripping down his charred and broken armor. He kissed her again. The spell was broken. Aya was free from evil's embrace. She looked up at him with her beautiful, sapphire eyes filled with comfort and joy as she brushed his burned hair away from his face. He smiled at her, and slumped over next to her. Even as his soul left his body, he smiled at her until he could see her no longer. Delirious and exhausted, she smiled, kissed him again and curled up in his lifeless arms and went to sleep.


  • ((When are we going to see the second season of this Rick? You know…the part where the demon raises back from the dead, reclaims the girl, only to have her run off with some white haired sorcerer....))


  • This is so damn good, I'm going to go ahead and give my compliments.

    Bumping it too…

    Whistles innocently


  • A great story Rick. Hopefully you've been an inspiration to all the other bards on the server. It would be nice to visit the theater more often. 🙂


  • I would like to have posted this on the front page…