3. Firebrand

Firebrand


  • Runaway

    _So tired.
    I need help…

    But where to go?

    I’ll just lie here a little longer and try to forget everything.

    I hear winds calling me. It is calling me back to that place.

    No, it’s just my imagination.

    Hope has abandoned me, my breath leaving my body.
    If I die… would anyone miss me when I am gone?

    Too close… I don’t want to die again.

    To need so much, hate so much, and I… No, not anymore.

    All of it… gone. Taken away.

    But why? How could I have let it happen.

    Why do I feel this way again…

    I need others, and I need them more than I can tell them.

    Please gods, don’t let them hate me, for I need them so much.

    Let me out…
    I need someone to free me.
    The lock it outside of my prison… and I cannot reach it.

    Please save me…

    But…
    Wait…
    Do I want to be saved? What would I do if I was?

    I would live…
    I would stop being such a puppet.

    Stop being afraid…

    Afraid? Afraid of what?

    Afraid of yourself? Afraid of Him? Or the one who follows you…

    Go away… I’ve a headache, and it’s killing me. I want to be alone… I’ve always been alone…. Maybe death isn’t too bad after all.

    I need to decide… I want to make this bloody headache go away.
    Do I choose me, or nothingness?

    I choose…
    I want…
    To save myself.
    But to save myself would be to sacrifice something…
    Someone… else.

    It is time to go.
    It’s time to return home._


  • Scars of the Heart - Part III

    Skyla’s dreamless nights quickly became a memory the minute she laid eyes on one Zyphlin Re’cual.

    It was funny though, she swore she had seen him before, though she was also equally sure she had never met a Zyphlin Re’cual before.

    Though the man was handsome she supposed - in a very unusual sort of way - that wasn’t what attracted her to Zyphlin initially. It was his eyes, a brilliant shade of sapphire blue had a story there. It was there for anyone who wished to see it, but even once seen, very few, if any at all would ever be able to understand it.

    He smelled of the sea and adventure, and roads that lead to places yet seen.
    And somehow, she knew him.

    Her attraction to Zyphlin was almost immediate, and she was fairly sure that he was attracted to her as well. After all, she was a beautiful porcelain doll, so… why wouldn’t he be?

    Attraction or not, apparently that wasn’t enough for Zyphlin. Time and time again, he brushed her flirtatious off, only serving to build Skyla’s irritation, frustration, and attraction even more. Eventually, he confessed to her why it was that he turned her away.

    True, while he was attracted to her, he was with another woman. They were keeping their affair secret, for reasons of propriety. Otherwise, he assured her in an older, wiser, condescending sort of manner, he would most certainly be willing to return Skyla’s affections as well.

    Anger bubbled up within her from the bottom of her stomach. Never had she lost before. Every time she had played her cards of attraction and flirtation, she had won out easily. She still couldn’t understand how or why it had happened.

    As the days wore on, she tried her best to throw Zyphlin out of her mind. Every time she thought she was close to getting over her defeat, he would come around again. Accidental moments of tension, once or twice, a few thoughtless kisses. But never was he to be hers to have. And because of that, he would always be in her mind…. And slowly but surely, he found his way if but unintentionally through the passages of her labyrinth heart.

    The coin had begun to turn, but had not yet stopped spinning.

    And so life goes on.

    Her love with Arryn Raven was brief, but filled with warmth and closeness. Never given the chance to find the flaw in it before Arryn became lost to everyone. Having left to do a favor for a friend in Shadowdale, Arryn had promised to return to Skyla. The day she received the news of his death, she held his broken rapier in her hands, gripping them tightly until she cut through the fabric of her gloves until they cut the skin of her hands. Then her heart reminded her of another promise broken, and she felt no more pain, not even the blood that began to eek out of her cut flesh. But perhaps it was best to put on a show for the rest of those concerned.

    Death was so close. No love, no life, no happiness, Skyla spent her days in the abyss of nothingness.


  • Scars of the Heart - Part II

    When one only is told they are one thing, over and over again, they begin to believe….. they are only one thing.

    What’s the true value of beauty?
    It’s something that will eventually fade for everyone one day.
    And those who have it only have it through luck, and the humor of the gods.
    So, what then when it’s gone?
    If you only have that, then what’s left?

    Skyla went out into the world, and she watched as other’s went about on their daily business.

    Walking through the streets of Waterdeep, she saw as the ugly matron spoke wisdom, but it went unheard. However, the beautiful, but stupid woman on the other side of the wisdom spoke nothing but nonsense, and Skyla watched as it was licked up from the cobbles like wine. It was easy, she supposed, to do such things, when one wasn’t really listening to a thing that the pretty idiot said. Just a face.

    Eventually Skyla returned to Narfell, and to Wilhelm. Initially stunned by her old feelings of love for him, she nearly fell back into the old routine.

    After all, now Wilhelm was offering her a child. He had since decided while she was gone that he since was getting older, if there ever was a time to pass on his heritage, then it was now. Before he passed into old age, or worse- death, and was no longer able to.

    Whatever love Skyla thought she might have still had for Wilhelm quickly turned to dust. She would always find him fascinating, and amusing… but she was now sure, that any sense of love she had ever had for him was a farce.

    Love. A dream, yes. A beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful dream.

    And a grand farce of the gods. It didn’t really exist, but it wouldn’t keep each and every one of us of having the same dream every night.

    Every. Damn. Night.

    No hell could be worse.

    If only to get a good night’s sleep, Skyla let her self forget what a lie love was. She would find love, she would embrace it. She would be amused, exhilarated, enthralled, overwhelmed by it… but never, ever again, would she let the inner most part of her heart believe in it. Even if the rest of her did.

    For weeks, she slept perfectly. Not a dream interrupted her sleep, not a scream, not a voice or nightmare.

    Then one day, she saw him. That bastard.

    That knave! Oh how she loathed him. Despised him.

    If misfortune was a man, he carried a Tymoran coin.


  • Scars of the Heart - Part I

    Love love, but never love the man.

    Skyla was good at that. It was how she survived, and how she found her joys in life. She absolutely loved being in love. The excitement of the chase, the intensity of each conversation, the pounding heart beat when she thought about the object of her affection, and how the blood would rush through her veins whenever they finally touched. She LOVED love. It was such a wonderful dream.

    But sooner or later, reality would set in, and the dream would inevitably shatter, and the veil that made everything seem so wonderful would dissolve. He would notice how temperamental she was, while she would start to notice how unemotional he was. He would complain that she was reckless; she would say that he wasn’t taking enough risks. Inevitably, what started out as love would turn into a war, complete with little battles and negotiations and even peace treaties.

    She had in fact truly been in love with each man she had been with, in one manner or the other. Was it her fault that love seemed to unravel around her whenever she tried to reach for it?

    With Roubanes, it was his recklessness that helped her find her own willingness to take risks. But she couldn’t stand by to watch him try and try again to kill himself in his endeavors, which over time, turned from recklessness, to what even he admitted as near attempts at suicide. She could never break his spirit.

    With Ashen, she had been enthralled by the mystery that hovered about him. He was so very dark and brooding, that she became set in solving the puzzle that he was. However, he did not care to be “solved”. He was content being a ghost, and always remaining just a bit apart from everyone else in the world. One cannot love enough for two. Even still he remains and enigma, hunting.

    Skyla began to doubt love, and doubt its worth.

    Then came Wilhelm.

    Wilhelm, the poet, the druid, the free spirit. Wilhelm, her undoing.

    He was her very first real love, and first lover. While she had loved both Ashen and Roubanes, those were candied and sweet loves of a girl. Wil was the first she had loved as a woman. She was his prize, and he was her was her greatest connoisseur.

    She had spent year after year with Wil, much longer than she had any man at the time, and any man since. With him, she had learnt everything there was to know about love in the most poetic of senses and all of its most romantic splendor.

    But poetry is not real, and only brings joy to those who don’t realize its lies. It is only a play to be performed, even if the actors aren’t aware of it.

    Skyla, being raised in a traditional home, with traditional standards, only wanted traditional things. Marriage, a home, and a child. Wilhelm did not. She had begged him after years, and pleaded. Wilhelm did not want such ties and responsibilities.

    And soon, Skyla realized something. She wasn’t sure that Wilhelm loved her. Not because he wouldn’t give her what she desperately wanted, but because of what he said.
    As she began to listen carefully, she noted that he would tell her how beautiful she was, much more than how much he loved her. More often would he call her his “Prize” or “Doll” more than he would by her own name.

    Prize. Beautiful. Doll.

    Slowly, she began to realize that to others she was nothing but a porcelain doll with a pretty face.

    Just as Wilhelm had been telling her all along, she was a prize to be had.

    Not able to take such a realization, she left her life in Narfell, going out into the world to see if there was perhaps something more to who she was.

    But… who was she?


  • Future's Promise

    (Or, leaving on a jet plane- errr… boat.. don't know when I'll be back again... )

    After everything that had happened in her life, she felt somehow deep in her heart that it was time to move on. She loved this place, but she needed to get away from here, and leave everything behind.

    … Or almost everything…

    She hurried with her packing, knowing that she was running behind, and this was one thing she could not be late for.

    She had someone waiting for her, and together, they would be traveling to Cormyr. Finishing up all of her packing, she half ran, half dragging her trunk behind her, rushing as fast as she could out of the Inn to the docks where her ship was waiting.

    Her smile grew wider and wider as she got closer to the docks. She felt more and more confident that the letter she had written last night would bring good things, and would prove fruitful. But there was always a chance she supposed…

    Finally reaching the docks, she looked around worriedly, wondering if he was there. Only seeing the ship hands milling around, preparing the ship for departure, she feared that she was wrong after all. He didn’t come…

    Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and as she turned around, she was greeted with a smile.

    “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

    Nodding vigorously, she winked. “Why not? It sounds like it would be a most interesting adventure, don’t you agree?”

    Grinning, he shook his head, leaning down to pick up her trunk as though it weighed nothing at all.

    “Alright Skyla,” said Anakore, laughing aloud as he climbed the ramp to board the ship, “Let’s go get married.”

    As the ship departed, rested her head on Anakore’s shoulder, watching the horizon of Peltarch, and Narfell, fade in the distance.

    She was sure they would return…someday.


  • The Silencer

    Face your fears.

    As she picked herself up from the rocky coast, she noted the multiple cuts and bruises over her body. Blood trickled out of the more vicious of the cuts, dark, red and syrupy, streaming down her body until they ran to the ground, mixing with the black murky water that washed between the cracks of the rocks.

    “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

    And it did. Small rivulets of pain threaded its way through her body. Each thread was so subtle, but all together, it felt as though each element of her was being pricked and poked.
    Just enough to cloud her mind, but not enough to incapacitate her.

    Stepping forward gingerly, she saw a dusty hallway blend away from the rocks, and stretch out infinitely beyond. It was quite familiar. She had seen it too many times in her dreams since adolescence. The hallway in Thay, the one that lead to the dueling arena is what stretched out before her. She didn’t want to go back down that path again, for she knew precisely where it lead, and once there, what would happen. But there was no other choice. It was either the hallway in front of her, or the icy cold water behind her.

    “But there is another choice…”

    A chill wound its way up her spine. The third choice, death. Skyla shook her head in denial. Death was not a choice, it was only giving up. She was better than that, or she had taught herself to think she was.

    “But are you sure?”

    Taking a step forward, Skyla began to make her way down the hallway, down the long dark narrow path. As she walked down the halls, she could hear the echos of her thoughts resound off of the wall in soft whispers.

    What do you fear?
    I fear the past.
    Why?
    The past is what made me who I am today.
    Why does that scare you?
    ………

    Before long, Skyla came to her first obstacle- A mirror covered door blocking the path to the rest of the hallway. Around the edges were the same familiar figures of humans climbing over top of each other to escape the fires, and some unseen predator. Looking around for a door knob, she saw none. How was she to open the door?

    “FACE YOUR FEARS!” a loud voice thundered through the mirror of the door, an arm reaching out to pull Skyla into her own reflection.

    @eb8c75240f:

    Rashemi husbands and wives with their children in tow ran in horror from the men with shaved heads, tattoos adoring their arms and skulls.

    They had come. No more time. No more time!

    Aleth Vea forced her daughter into the arms of the man, pushing them both towards the portal the elders had opened.

    “Go! Take her to her father…”

    Her words were cut off once again by an attacker from behind, pushing her down to the ground then stepping on her to take aim at the children, waiting to leave by the portal. His hands glowed bright red, tendrils of fire snaking out, until they threatened to engulf them all. Her child's wail broke out as the magical fire wrapped around her leg, her protector staring down in shock, unsure of what to do.

    “in Suzail!” shouted the young mother. Using the last of her strength, she muttered an incantation directed at the portal.

    The little hut lighted up with a bright and blinding flash, then fell back into darkness and silence.

    Opening her eyes, she struggled to take another breath.

    Thank Mystra. The children, and her babe, were gone…

    Her … babe? No… that wasn’t right. What really happened?

    … just Skyla…

    The eyes of fate will pass judgement on you.
    Face your fears.


  • "The Silent Maiden’s Final Journey"

    I. Silence’s Challenge

    Save Thyself.

    Adrift in the murky blackness, painful daggers of ice shot through Skyla’s body to her core. Her body jerked violently, but even the painful sensations did not awake her. The blackness continued to attack her, taking more, causing more pain, but still doing nothing to wake her. One dagger, so cold that it burned with its’ freezing touch pierced through her heart… echoing and calling out to her…

    “You are cold Skyla… you have no heart.”

    Skyla blinked open her eyes attempting to draw breath, only to have her lungs filled with liquid. Wanting to cough, there was no place to expel the water in her lungs to. Desperately, her eyes darted around, trying to focus on something that would tell her where to go. The blackness stretched on forever.

    “You’ve wasted your life away… What have you really accomplished?”

    Spotting a small of light, she began to kick, swimming towards it. The water felt like ice cold blood all around her, thick and heavy, threatening to drag her back down away from the light. With each stroke, she could feel the ice cut through her lips, shaving away her muscles from the bone. Swimming up became so difficult, so tiring that each movement made her consider giving up… It would be so easy.

    “That’s right Skyla. Give it up. Don’t accept responsibility. You are weak. You deserve what you got. You are worthless. Trash. A freak….and most of all…”

    Skyla kicked furiously for the surface, reaching, reaching… father until she could feel her fingertips breath the surface of the pool, curling out to the warm air but grasping at nothing. Yet still her heart pounded in joy that she found the surface. Stretching and climbing through the murk, she reached her arms further up, finally pulling her upper body out of the water, taking her first delightful breath of air.

    “You are a…. .”

    Smirking as she heard the all too familiar voice in her head she mentally quieted it, setting forth to look around for the shore. Finally spotting it, she swam for it, her muscles tired and rippling with pain, but her spirit persevered. Perseverance paid off as she reached the rocky coast. The rocks were cold, but they felt like heaven as she laid herself upon them gasping in greedy breaths of air. Slowly but surely, the water dried from her naked body, a warm breeze warming her and soothing away the memories of the icy pain that had so shortly before cut through her to the soul. Rolling over onto her back, she looked up the semblance of a sky made of millions of eyes that looked down upon her, watching… waiting, recording.

    The eyes of fate will pass judgment on you.
    Believe in thyself.


  • Sand Castles

    Skyla sat alone, staring out at the trees in the park, just beyond the Peltarch commons. She felt like she was waiting for something or someone to come by, and to remind her why it was that she was here- why it was she felt so compelled to continue and wait for this thing that she wasn’t even certain was to come.

    Every now and then, a person would walk by, stop, blink and do a double take when they saw her. Sure enough, they would approach, and exclaim loudly: “Skyla! You’re here… what happened to you?”

    Skyla couldn’t answer this question, for she didn’t know. She had been told she was attacked by wolves, and her throat had been torn out a few years ago. After that, she had been dead. Until now that is.

    Not that she would much know the difference, because she couldn’t remember anything prior to awaking in the house that belonged to some short man named Finnus, who had claimed to have cared for her until she woke a few days before, having suffered grievous injuries which he did not seemed to be inclined to describe.

    There were so few things that Skyla could remember now. One being the shadow of a face, a face she held dear, but frightened her and caused her chest to ache all at once. She couldn’t see the details of this face, but she new it was important. The second, a thing which she could not get out of her mind was that she saw herself sitting in the sand, shaping the earth with her hands over and over… building sand castles. Just as she would nearly complete her castle, an invisible tide would flow in, washing it all away, along with every one of her memories, all her answers…

    Skyla closed her eyes, trying once more to build a sand castle in her mind.


  • "Time"

    _For everything there is a season,
    And a time for every matter under heaven:
    A time to be born, and a time to die;
    A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
    A time to kill, and a time to heal;
    A time to break down, and a time to build up;
    A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
    A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
    A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
    A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
    A time to seek, and a time to lose;
    A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
    A time to tear, and a time to sew;
    A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
    A time to love, and a time to hate,
    A time for war, and a time for peace.

    Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

    She had hope…

    Skyla opened her eyes, a happy contentment dawning over her. Yes, granted, she was still dead, but it seemed that lately there had been a few passers through in the wastelands, and though she should feel entirely saddened by what had brought them there, she was not sad to have a bit of company. Bones wasn’t what she would call a conversationalist in the least.

    Somehow, her spirits had lifted aside from the recent company she had, but she could not explain it. Perhaps Tymora was beginning to take notice of her wayward worshipper, and this mood was a sign that luck was about to smile upon her.

    She was at peace…

    Smiling at the thought, she rolled over on her stomach, drawing pictures in the sand absentmindedly in a fashion that would befit an adolescent girl dreaming about her fist love. Glancing down at what she had drawn, all of her cheery mood suddenly fell away. There before her in the sand was a horrifying picture of what seemed to be a small village, burning in flames. The inhabitants, characterized by small stick figures seemed to be running away from their homes in terror, a large formless creature behind them.

    Without warning, the lines in the sand took on a glowing quality, and began to melt beneath her gaze, quickly turning into a white flame. Growing brighter by the moment, the light blinded Skyla, turning her head and putting a hand in front of her face to shield her.

    With a great sucking sound, she felt the air stir around her and then draw itself to the flame, pulsing, and then blinking out. Afraid to look for a moment, she continued to hold her hand in front of her face, her breath rapid and deep. All was quiet for a moment before screams of pain began to ripple through the air. Taking her hand away from her face, she took in her surroundings, her heart beating so loudly and so hard that it threatened to extricate itself from her chest.

    She was there…

    Husbands and wives with their children in tow ran in horror from the men with shaved heads, tattoos adoring their arms and skulls. Armies marched on, and behind them, a woman with long scarlet hair curling down past her shoulders followed behind, led by a man who guided her and presented her as though she were royalty, his queen.

    From her vantage point, Skyla could watch the procession, and knew she recognized the woman. With flicks of the lady’s wrist, she shot forth large balls of flame, engulfing the villagers on hitting their marks, leaving nothing but charred corpses in its wake.

    The lady and her consort came closer and closer, until they were both standing before Skyla. Staring at the woman, she looked into cold blue eyes above a sardonic smile, and Skyla could not help but to take notice that there was a manacle around her neck, a chain leading from behind her as though it were a leash into the man’s hand. Turning to take in the appearance of the man, she saw merely empty eyes encased behind a faceless head. Slowly, both the woman and her man extended their hands, beckoning Skyla to come with them, one hand soft, but yet scarred in the palm, the other long, thin, and bony.

    She was home…

    Extending her hand slowly, she was within an inch of her hand reaching theirs, so close she could feel their presence emanating from them. From behind the man, she could see servants bringing their long curved blades, and long bloody strips of fabric.

    “Stop!” yelled a voice from the distance

    And then time stood still.


  • "GriGris"

    Periodically, while resting in the dusky waste lands that were the fugue, Skyla would begin to feel faint and dizzy.

    At times, she would pass into unconsciousness. Something she would find odd later when she awoke and examined the phenomena.

    During these periods, she would dream. In her dream, her body was lain out on a cold stone floor, a crowd of familiar faces around her. Each one of the faces merely looked down on her body, faces impassive. Doing nothing. No hatred or kindness. No caring, or distaste.

    They merely stared down at her body.

    And did nothing.

    Trapped inside her body, she tried to scream at them, yell for someone- anyone to listen hard enough to hear her. To help her.

    Again, they merely stared.

    And did nothing.

    She was in her body. She did not move, she did not scream, no matter how much in her mind she wanted to. Yet still paralyzed, she could do nothing to let them know she was still there.

    Did they not see that she was still there?

    From behind the crowd, a woman began to move, singing a soft, exotic melody. Clapping her hands periodically, she seemed to be shooing away something from the air that could not be seen.

    “Leave de girl alones you. Stop with makin’ her tink such mean tings. Yous won’ be takin’ her now, you here me? So cut it out!”

    The old woman frowned at the air, continuing to shoo away unseen things from around Skyla’s resting spot. Bloody hell. Who was she?

    Looking down at Skyla’s face, the old woman offered a kind smile, stroking the back side of her hand down her cheek. The other hand, gnarled and bent by years stroked a long set of beads hanging from her neck, made of blood red wood and what seemed to be…… tiny skeletons, serving as pendants…

    Skyla wanted to jerk in fear away from the woman, her hand and her morbid jewelry. But again she found that she could not move.

    “Shhh… shhh… Ain’t me yous need to be scared of. Dere be plenty ot’er things out dere dat gonna be lookin’ for yous soon ‘nough. You can only wait so long.”

    “And den… well, som’body come get you sooner or later, whether yous wants to go wit them or not.”

    The old woman smiled down at Skyla, a kindly smile, despite the loss of teeth. Patting a pocket on her robe, she nodded and smiled.

    “But we's gonna try ta make it laters dat the od’ers get yous, aight?”

    One by one, the old woman removed a small red pouch from her pockets, tied closed with a black ribbon. Placing the little red bags in a circle around Skyla’s body, the scents of spices began to waft through the air.

    The smell began to comfort Skyla…and she began to relax.

    With each bag, the smell grew stronger, more comforting.

    “Don’ worry girl. Yous get puts to rights soon ‘nough. Stop letting d’ose bad thinkin’s keep yous occupied, eh?”

    Breathing deeply, she could feel herself nodding. Then, she curled a finger under, feeling stronger.

    She wanted to push herself up, to stand… and in the blink of an eye, she awoke back in the waste lands.

    Just wishful thinking. That’s all it ever was.

    Zora was right. You could not go back on a wish.

    Hanging her head down to rest on her chest, she felt on the verge of tears. Lifting her hand to wipe her eyes, she felt something lumpy in her hand. Turning it over, she saw a small red bag, tied shut with a black ribbon. And the scent of spices began to reach her nose.

    Hugging the bag to her chest, she began to rock herself back and forth, and she felt something reborn within her heart.

    If one could not go back on a wish, could they return with hope?

    ((Note: GriGris is used in both african and VooDoom. As for the ones used in the Louisianna region of the US, they are comprised of little itty bitty red pouches tied with a black string of some sort, and filled with a mysterious combination of spices, grains, a coin and other sorts of things which are usually dependant on who constructed the GriGris. The purpose of GriGris is to ward off evil,greedy, or malicious spirits, and bring luck to the one who is gifted with it. I thought it would be fun to include a little bit of american folk lore into one of my stories! Enjoy!))


  • "Afraid of the Dark"

    Sometime later, Skyla found herself sitting beside Bones once again. Pushing around the sand with one foot, she heard figure approach. Looking up, expecting it to be Nathan, she found instead that it was a woman. She recognized her slightly, but she knew that she had not been a close acquaintance while she was alive. The lady stopped in front of her, looking over her face.

    “I …. I was here ... before?”

    Skyla smiled at the woman cordially, happy to see someone again.

    “Greetings,” said Skyla, as though she were once again sitting in the commons of Peltarch.

    The woman ignored Sky's salutation, continuing to look around the sandy plain, her dark auburn hair blew in the breeze, the only thing that moved in this desert, besides its guests.

    “It all looks the same. Do I know you?” the woman asked Skyla, though paying her little attention other than a cursory glace at her face.

    “Hrm.. Perhaps. I think I do recognize you a little,” Skyla replied, squinting her eyes. “Your name is.. Zora, I think.” She did indeed remember her a bit. She remembered seeing her quite often near the campfire in Norwick some years ago. Many years ago… before she first left Narfell, and before her father had died.

    The two began to talk, and entered into the conversation which seemed to be most popular in this place. How they came to be here, and why they still remained.

    But Zora's story frightened Skyla, making her wonder if there was any hope of leaving this place.

    “I remember there was a reason I wanted to live once. But I can't remember it any more,” said Zora, her voice empty.

    “I think I remember you and a lady named Jaahn being very close. She had platinum hair I think. Rather pretty actually,” Skyla added quickly, hoping to give her companion a bit of hope, some small desire to want to live again like herself.

    Zora blinked, trying the name out on her tongue, "Jaaaaaahn... "

    “Yes, I remember that name. It was... Important.”

    “Perhaps she was your reason for wanting to live?” Skyla asked.

    “I don't remember. There is so little I remember now,” Zora stared ahead vacantly.

    “Do you remember any feelings?”

    Zora spoke hesitantly, "I remember fear. It is important I think. The place is dark...”

    “What place?” Skyla asked curiously.

    “I don't know.. I'm drawn there... I want to run…” Zora began to explain, now visibly shaking, what little color in her face draining out entirely.

    “Drawn there?”

    “Do you know the place? You seem to know a lot,” Zora countered.

    “Is someone making you go?” Skyla’s voice became insistent and frightened.

    Zora shook her head slowly.

    “No, I have not heard of any sort of place that you are describing. But, then again, I have not been here as long as I think you have been,” Skyla offered hesitantly, her voice growing a bit more confident with each word. Then a thought occurred…

    “Perhaps... it is something that happens with time,” Skyla mused aloud, her voice becoming saddened once again. She could not imagine what it would be like to be swallowed up by darkness. To no longer hope or wish for the possibility of seeing all she loved again.

    “Have I? How long have you been here? Is time of importance? I wish I knew the answers.”

    “I am not quite sure actually how long I have been here...” Skyla replied, hearing her own voice shake with nervousness.

    “Do you think I knew the answers once?” Zora asked.

    “Yes, I do. I wish I had the answer of why I was still here.”

    “You cannot go back on wish, I think,” Said Zora, her voice becoming even more saddened.

    “I ... tried.”


  • (( As an adendum to the current story that I'm writing, and Skyla's status of being an extended resident of the fugue, I am not leaving Narfell. And I am not going to leave Skyla dead by any stretch of the imagination. (though that's not to say that she might not get left dead for a reason outside of my own efforts. 😉 )

    When she died the other day, I just thought- heck, you know.. Fugue RP might be a great opportunity to develop her character, and maybe try something that doesn't get done very often!

    I would like to thank everyone so far who's shown thier support for my current path with Skyla, thier offers to keep her company with thier dead characters, and thier worry over that Skyla might have been permadead.

    It means a heck of a lot to me. More than alot of you probably know. It's nice to be appreciated, and depsite what it may have said at the end of the latest story, I do not in any way feel as though I have been forgotten, or that Skyla has.

    The fugue just does funny things to your head. 😎 ))


  • "The Forgotten"

    It seemed like it had been many days since she had come to this desolate place. And she could say one thing for certain… It never changed. Not a grain of sand, not a withering bush. Nothing.

    Skyla tried for a while to draw Bones into conversation. She told him of how she had died and come to be a resident of this place. Then she told him about her childhood, and of how her brothers and sisters used to pick on her, but how she loved them none the less. Bones remained unmoving, staring out into the vastness of the deep red sky.

    Afterwards, she attempted to form the lazy grains of sand into a sand castle for the fifth time. Yet, the sand still refused to take shape, each time falling back into the precise place that it had been in before.

    Skyla began to wish for something, anything to keep her occupied. She had never been good at being patient or staying still for long periods of time, and it seemed that her new status of “dead” had not changed that trait.

    She lay on her back beneath one of the tents near the skeleton man, and she began to weave a story in her head to amuse herself. No matter how hard she tried not to think about the sad times of her life, how she was never to see her lover again, and how lonely she was here now, her thoughts couldn’t seem to escape. There must be some way out of this place. Something…

    Faintly, in the distance, she heard something shuffling through the sand. It was most likely her imagination, for there was nothing here other than herself and Bones. And she had never seen him move from his spot once. Sighing deeply, she resigned herself to the fact that she was most likely losing her mind. She had heard that long periods of time in solitaire could often do that to a person’s mind. But then…

    “Hello to you…” said a voice.

    Leaning up quickly, Skyla smacked her forehead on the top of the tent, wincing as she tried to focus her eyes on the image standing before her. It was a man! In the… well… flesh, she supposed. Whoever he was, he certainly did not look like Bones.

    Maybe Tymora was listening to some of her prayers after all.

    The man it turned out had also been in the fugue sometime as well. Briefly wondering how it came to be that they had not spotted each other before, Skyla shook the thought off. He was someone to talk to. Maybe even someone who could help her figure out why she was still here, and not yet returned to the Mortal plane, or even with her Goddess, Tymora.

    Talking at some length, she learned that the man’s name was Nathan, and that he had come to be a resident of this desolate place due to his efforts to help two hins who had been cornered by a pack of goblins. While they had escaped death, Nathan had not. Oddly, or perhaps not so oddly enough, Nathan added that after he had been in the fugue for some time, he had even seen the pair of hins pass through the land, seemingly having had died later anyhow.

    In exchange, Skyla shared her story of death, and her confusion of why she was still in the plane of waiting.

    It was not long before both Skyla and Nathan had arrived at the same conclusion.

    They had been forgotten.


  • "Broken"

    Skyla looked back at Thierulf, both having just slain the last of the large wolves on the snowy road.

    “That was a bit easier than I thought. Tymora must be smiling on us,” she said with a half grin.

    “Don’t say tha….” replied her companion, his words cut off suddenly.

    Spinning around to look behind her, she saw a new pack approaching them at unearthly speed, an incredibly large wolf at the forefront. It snarled and glared at the sight of the two travelers, what could only be blood mixed with its drool hanging from its fangs.

    Thierulf and Skyla readied themselves for the incoming pack, swinging their swords at the beasts as they leapt upon the two. In a desperate flurry of actions, they cut at the animals, fighting them off one by one as the wolves bit at their limbs.

    “Skyla!” she heard him shout, a wolf leaping from behind her to tackle her to the ground in a bite to her lower leg. Trying desperately she attempted to push herself up from the ground. Nearly half way up, she stopped suddenly, staring into the blood red eyes of the largest of the wolves. It calmly sneered back, knowing that it had complete advantage. Closing her eyes, she vaulted herself forward, her scimitar angling for its chest as the wolf came for her.

    That was the last she remembered.

    ……………………

    Her eyes opened slowly, the vision of the non existent sky being the first thing that came into her cloudy view. Blinking a few times to clear her mind, she pushed herself up, looking around to take in her surroundings. This was not the snowy road. There were no wolves swarming around her. The large wolf that had leapt at her throat was no where to be seen. Her throat…

    She moved her hand quickly to her neck, feeling it intact. She was uninjured. Infact, it seemed that she had never been in battle with the ferocious animals at all.

    Then, she took notice again of her surroundings. A vast, desolate desert stretched out around her for what seemed to be eternity, only changing when it met the foggy red horizon.

    She knew this place… And suddenly, she realized what had happened.

    She was dead.

    Suddenly, she dropped to her knees, and began to send desperate prayers to Tymora. But, she could feel them going unanswered.

    She tried again and again, praying rapidly, muttering promises of great deeds and acts in the goddess’s favor. But still, they went unanswered.

    Falling forward into the sand, she felt exhausted. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession with each breath.

    What now? What was happening? Perhaps she was to wait for her friends to raise her.

    So, she sat in wait.

    Time passed, and she grew restless. She attempted to talk to bones, but that was a bit uncomfortable, trying to converse with a skeleton.

    Wandering around, she happened upon a succubus who grinned at her, beckoning her forward with an unnatural greed in her eyes. Quickly turning back, she found a building in the distance, broken down and crumbling, but forever frozen in its state.

    Skyla sat, leaning her back against the wall, drawing a hand down her face. She was still dead, and it seemed that fact would not be changing soon.

    A memory suddenly filled her mind.

    She was in the theater of Peltarch, looking at the face a man that she loved dearly. Words flowed between them…

    Skyla… If I ever die, and don’t return… Know that you were the greatest love of my life…

    She suddenly wondered if he knew that too.

    ……………………

    The group stood in the Jiyyd healer’s cottage, helping Thierulf dress. Skyla’s body laid before the healer, as she attempted to try once again to return the fallen woman to life. Yet nothing happened. Shaking her head at the group, she looked out at them sadly. There was nothing she could do for the woman at this time, and no one was sure if she ever would be able to.

    Skyla continued to lay dead, the healer keeping her body safe.


  • "Gambit"

    Yawning softly, Skyla slitted open one of her drooping eyelids, glancing around the room. Taking a moment to absorb her surroundings as she woke out of her sleep, she noticed that she was not alone in the room.

    In fact, she was not alone in the bed.

    Nor was she clothed.

    Her heart skipping a beat momentarily, the though “oh dear gods…” passed through her mind just before the fog of sleep cleared. Wait, no. She remembered what happened, and who it was beside her. A slow smile crept up on the corners of her mouth as she rolled over to her stomach and took a better look at the man beside her. Brushing away part of the blanket from his face, she could hear him snoring softly, making clear that he wasn’t waking up any time soon. A little restless and giddy, Skyla rolled out of the bed, scooping up her clothing and dressed quietly so as not to disturb her love. Scribing a note before she left, she folded it over and placed it next to him, leaving one last kiss on his cheek before she left.

    Skipping down the hallway, Skyla couldn’t help but to grin broadly in her happiness and satisfaction. Tymora did indeed reward risky gambits, she thought to herself. Though in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but have a nagging feeling that she was forgetting something. It wasn’t long before she found out what it was, as she descended the stairs into the lower levels of the inn.

    “Good Morning Skyla,” said the two grinning faces, lazily sitting on chairs out in the hall, sipping on elfish wine.

    Never before, until that moment had she realized the depth of how one could be thoroughly embarrassed, thrilled, and violent all at once. She really should know better than to acquaint herself with so many bards. It was bound to cause trouble. Thinking back to her love still sleeping upstairs, she smoothed her hair into place and tried to resist the urge to grin. Well, maybe not all bards are trouble. Or maybe it was that not all trouble was bad? Either way…

    Skyla coughed, nodding politely to the two men who were staring at her with cat grins.

    “Have a good time Skyla?” One asked.

    “Um… yes. We had a very nice talk. I think everything is cleared up now,” she responded, trying to seem perfectly natural.

    “That’s good,” the other replied, both grins growing larger, if that was possible.

    All was silent for a few moments, just before the two men could no longer contain themselves, bursting out into hysterical laughter.

    Sighing deeply, Skyla ran a hand wearily down her face, sure that there had never before been a brighter red in all of Faerun than that of which was filling her cheeks at this moment.

    Certainly, this was going to bring nothing but trouble.

    “Alright… yes, this is all very funny, isn’t it?” Skyla asked Meril and Zyphlin, who were currently attempting to keep themselves from rolling on the floor in their laughter.

    “You have no idea my lady,” said Meril, dusting himself off, still yet laughing, but now trying to suppress it.

    Zyphlin continued to snicker, pointing a finger at Skyla’s hair. “I think you missed a spot Skyla, unless that’s a new hairstyle?”

    Frowning severely, she patted both of her hands down her hair, trying to smooth it and retain what little dignity she had left.

    Now tempered down into a thoroughly amused grin, Meril nodded his approval. “Much better Skyla. Perhaps now would be a good time to return to the city?”

    Nodding in her agreement, they all gathered their things, and set out on the road to Peltarch.

    Having encountered little trouble on the road, Skyla and her companions arrived in their home in very short time. Just as they said their goodnights to each other, Meril and Zyphlin turned to Skyla, ready to verbally jab her with another joke on her behalf.

    But her cheeks were already red.

    Laughing, Meril shook his head at the sorceress. “Surely you are not still suffering from embarrassment. Why Skyla.. it’s all meant in je…”

    The bard’s words hung in mid air, watching as Skyla weaved, her knees seeming as they were about to buckle beneath her.

    “Skyla! Are you alright?!” Zyphlin asked frantically, reaching out a hand to steady her.

    Rubbing her forehead, Skyla squinted her eyes, and concentrated. Her head felt so foggy, and her skin… it was burning, and not even the falling snow was cooling her. “I feel so warm… It’s hot…I…”

    Just before reaching her, Skyla’s body ignited in flame, fire tongues curling out to burn anyone who touched her. Then just as quickly, it was gone, the sorceress collapsing on the ground.

    “Skyla!” the two bards both yelled, reaching towards her to help, flinching a moment before they touched her.

    Her consciousness drifting away, she heard their frantic voices asking her what happened and if she was alright, felt their touch and attempts to wake her. She could still feel the heat and her emotions ebb and flow through her body.

    Fear piqued a moment, and simultaneously, she felt her skin burn.

    She heard a voice echo through her mind…

    You are much too emotional… I told you that.

    Skyla reached up, wrapping her hand around her the pendant of Tymora she carried.

    Time to take another gamble.


  • Every day she weakened. Every day she lost her purpose. Why should I continue fighting this, Skyla thought to herself, looking at her image in the mirror. As usual, she saw herself staring back at her. She missed her blue eyes, the eyes she lost many years ago on the night of her fist duel against herself. Now warm amber eyes stared back at her. A sign of her acceptance of herself, the loss of her inner innocence. But such is a small price to pay to not be lost in the true death that had threatened to take her over that night.

    The longer she looked, the more she saw. She was no longer herself. It, she…who ever she was, it was slowly but surely being drained away from her. Skyla could even now feel it being put away in some prison she couldn’t see, far away from where she was now.

    Smells of blood and chemicals, and things she could not wafted through the small inn room. Catching her head in her hands, she fought to steady herself, and swallow back the nausea that creeped up her throat.

    "There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief

    Running out of her room, down the hall, she came to the common room of the Inn. Her head pounded, panic rising higher in her chest. Looking left to right, then behind her once again, she knew no one would be there. But just the same, she constantly felt compelled to search the many faces around her, just incase this time… if this was the time, if she didn’t look, what would happen? Would he be there waiting, watching… ready to take what she had so carelessly left out in the open for claiming?

    Run little girl, run fast, run far.

    "There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
    Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
    None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

    Like what you see?

    Quickly, she ran to the door, feeling so alone amongst the throng of tavern goers. Before she exited to step out into the night, she looked back once more, not in fear, but in wanting of what so many of the men and women there had so easily, and took so much for granted. Peace.

    Only lies. More lies. You know you can’t have that, don’t you?

    "No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
    "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.

    Don’t you feel like giving up yet?

    Picking up the pace of her walk, she dodged drunken men with their paid women out in the street. Trying not to look at them, she could feel them leering at her. Such freak you are, she could almost hear them thinking. You should be locked away. Who knows when you could kill us all.

    I can show you the way. I can make you better than all of them.

    But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate, So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.

    Why don’t you just make it easier for yourself. Give in.

    She just wanted this done with. She couldn’t handle this all again. She wasn’t strong enough. Panic pounded louder and louder in her body, growing with her quickening heart beat. A walk turned into a run, Skyla made her way now through the civic district, past guards going about on their duties, and not one turned their head to see her. Mothers, fathers, children blurred by her, turning into mist. Everything around her became transparent, until nothing seemed real anymore.

    That’s right. Run to me.

    All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
    While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.

    Just a little farther.

    Suddenly, she ran into something, someone, falling back to crack her head on the cobble beneath her. Moaning out her pain, she looked up to see a fuzzy shape standing over her. A man was there, wearing a long dark robe. Was it him? Was he here to finally take her away? His lips moved and she could faintly hear his voice. But what was he saying? She couldn’t understand.

    Close the door, Skyla.

    Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl, Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

    "Miss? Miss? Are you alright?"

    "Did you see that? She just collapsed on the temple steps."

    "She looks ill. You don’t think it’s the plague is it?"

    No. Not the plague. But gods she almost wished it was.
    She could feel the fire burn within her.

    You cannot run from me.
    I alone lie in wait for you.
    Come to me, and I’ll make it all go away.

    ((Song Lyrics, "All Along the Watchtower" - Bob Dylan ))


  • ((repost))

    "The Trial"

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    Skyla made her way into the room, great in size, filled with the scents and whispers of the past. She looked to the edges of the room, not able to see the walls, but only the faint outlines of benches on which spectators would sit to watch the events that took place in this room. But they were empty.

    “Go to the center and wait for your opponent.” Said Nosyert, pointing to indicate a square outline in the center of the room.

    Skyla looked to the place that he pointed to, staring in wonder at the shape, then turned her gaze back to the old weathered wizard. “No.. I cannot.. I’ve not been challenged.” She sputtered, when thought suddenly came into her mind. “You challenge me? But.. I don’t know who you even are…”

    Nosyert shook his head, looking upon Skyla with a dose of amusement. “Not I…”, gesturing to a far shadowy corner of the room. “That is your opponent.”

    From the shadows stepped a woman. Fairly short, and unimposing in looks, with strange sapphire eyes and a pretty mouth. Chin length hair, mussed and wild. The color of crimson fire…

    Skyla was to fight the mage duel against herself.

    The mirror stared back at Skyla, smiling in a knowing sort of way, walking slowly towards herself, circling and taking her in. “My, my… it is about time, don’t you think? I’ve been kept waiting. Good little girls shouldn’t keep a person waiting. Such bad manners…”

    Steeling her back, Skyla watched herself circle around her, listened as she continued to speak. “You’ve starved me, kept me hungry and hidden. Why do you deny yourself? I am apart of you.” She reached up her hand to touch the copy of her face, ivory hands on ivory cheeks, caressing slowly. A growl broke through her lips a second before she dug her nails in, piercing the skin, watching Skyla bleed red, blood trickling down her face. Screaming out in pain, Skyla slapped the hand away from her face, shooting an accusatory look back to her self.

    “Ladies,” Nosyert’s voice broke through, snapping at each one as a parent would to a naughty child, “Shall we begin the duel?”

    Skyla laughed arrogantly at Skyla, nodding slowly watching as the other wiped the blood from her cheek. “Yes.. let’s get this over with…”

    The two women approached each other, nearly close enough to touch fingers or strike at each other once again. A frightened but calm look worn on one face, a vicious sneer on the other. In unison, they closed their blue eyes, breathes matching in rhythm, feeling the Weave flow through them. Slowly, they stepped backwards.. an aura growing around them, widening with each step. Stopping, eyes opened to look at each other, air shimmering on the perimeter of the dueling area.

    Raising her chin in the air, grin on her perfect porcelain face, Skyla asked herself with a laugh, “Are you ready little girl?”

    Skyla nodded as they passed through the shimmer, beginning the duel.

    Raising her hands, speaking the words to cast her first spell, she broke her words, seeing something glint behind her opponents back. Flash of metal, and piercing of armor… Skyla fell to the ground, her hands flying to her stomach, eyes looking down in shock at the scimitar that had been pushed through her, watching as it quickly became bathed in her blood.

    “I guess not..” Said the face in the mirror.

    Sapphire blue eyes set in an ivory visage looked down at her opponent in a sneer of satisfaction, running over her body as she watched her bleed. Skyla wanted to scream at the face to leave her be and let her die alone, but the feeling of her stomach clenching around the scimitar in her abdomen, cutting deeper into her flesh, would not allow words. The pain was too much, threatening to rip her soul away. Skyla knew she was about to die, and as she looked up at the face, she could see that her opponent knew this too, and was thrilled at watching the process of her passing. Just as the pain began to ebb away, she looked back to herself, her own eyes, mouth, and hair, watching as she bit her lip… the last thing she would see was blood run down her chin, covering the smiling mouth, hearing the hollow sound as it hit the ground with a splatter.

    “I told you… Let me out.. or I’ll take everything away.”

    Darkness came, thick and smothering, covering her and taking her breath from her body.

    give me peace

    "Dante's Gates to Hell" - Rodin

    ((This sculpture is kinda what inspired me to write the stories using the idea of doors. It's what I always kinda imagined what the doors would look like for the entrance to the mage duel arena ))


  • ((Reposts))

    "Fire Dancer"

    Waking with a start, Skyla sat up in her bed, breathing hard, chest rising and lowering rapidly with each inhale and exhale. Slowly the fear slipped away, and Skyla relaxed her posture just as slowly. Then the pain pierced her mind. She hunched over herself, touching her forehead and shutting her eyes against the feeling of something trying to tear at her head. She often had headaches, but never this terrible before. She wasn’t going to sleep for a while, not that that was a necessarily terrible thing. Rubbing her temples, soothing the pain away to bearable, Skyla thought on what to do for the next few hours before sunrise. A fire… that always calmed her nerves. She rose out of her bed to rummage through her pack, looking for the oil flasks she had bought just that day. Gathering up the materials, she dressed and left the tavern for the forest.

    Upon reaching the edge, she looked about herself, making sure no one was about, though she didn’t know why it mattered. Skyla arranged the wood and tinder on the ground, drizzling oil over the woodpile, then snapping the flint. The flame rose in a burst, tendrils reaching for the sky, curling like wanting fingers. Nothing was more beautiful than the amber dancing flames. Skyla had even tried her hand at mining, attracted to the use of fire in the craft. However, she had little liking for digging for rocks and all the other things.

    She continued to stare long into the fire, focusing, forming shapes with in it. One began to separate and rise above the others. A dancer, with long lithe arms and legs, arching gracefully, was gesturing to things unseen. Skyla had seen the dancer before… many times. How to get closer? Pulling at her gloves, Skyla let the night air touch her hands, flexing her fingers, never breaking concentration or eye contact with the form in the fire. Skyla took a deep breath and crept closer, she moved her hand to the fire, fingertips touching first. Little by little, the hand made its way fully into the flames, just beneath the twirling flame dancer. Standing back up to her full height, she had the form in her palm, watching it twirl and twist, arch and leap repeatedly. Such a beautiful thing it was, always had been in her every hearth and campfire, but no one ever could see it. So pure and clean was the flame, but few seemed to appreciate it. Skyla looked on, a small smile breaking onto her lips, much like a child seeing something new and fantastic.

    Then came the fear, chilling her skin and heart, piercing her head again as it had each time before. The dancer tripped and fell, burning the palm on which she was dancing on, causing Skyla to scream out in pain. Tears burned her eyes as she held the palm to her chest, heat tearing its way through her fingers and hand, up her arm. She dropped to the ground, smothering her hand in the grass, extinguishing the life that she had held in the palm of her hand.

    Skyla lay on the grass for sometime, thinking, breathing, and waiting for the pain to subside. Eventually she rose, picking up her glove from the ground, stretching it back over her hand. Taking some water from her canteen to douse the small fire, She then gathered her things to return to the inn, back to her bed to have a dreamless sleep.

    "Another Headache"

    Skyla vaulted out of her bed, falling to her knees onto the floor and clutching her head in between her hands. Fear, violence, loathing, despair all rushed through her veins, freezing her from core to her skin. Why were the headaches becoming so unbearable? What was she supposed to do?

    _"Let me out, let me feed. You know you want to… you cannot keep me inside forever. "

    if you won't let me…

    "I’ll take everything away…"_

    She couldn’t let it take away anything… Skyla had found so much here, and losing any of it would be unbearable. Perence and Roubanes, two of the best friends she had ever had. Aspen, Bram, Scutum, and all the others that she so enjoyed spending time with. And Ashen… Skyla could not give him up…

    Reaching her hand out, curling her fingers over the handle of his scimitar brought her calm. Slowly but to be sure, the headache subsided, leaving a worn, wasted girl, curled up on the ground.

    _"You know what to do…"

    "Time to leave…"_

    Skyla nodded in agreement as she heard the voice. Looking out the window, she glimpsed the sun, the fire that brought warmth to Toril. She wanted desperately wanted warmth again.
    “Time to leave…” The words rang true… it was time to leave.

    "An Open Door"

    Sapphire blue eyes set in an ivory visage looked down at her opponent in a sneer of satisfaction, running over her body as she watched her bleed. Skyla wanted to scream at the face to leave her be and let her die alone, but the feeling of her stomach clenching around the scimitar in her abdomen, cutting deeper into her flesh, would not allow words. The pain was too much, threatening to rip her soul away. Skyla knew she was about to die, and as she looked up at the face, she could see that her opponent knew this too, and was thrilled at watching the process of Skyla's passing. Just as the pain began to ebb away, she looked into the mirror, watching as she bit her lip… the last thing she saw was blood run down her chin and hit the ground with a splatter.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    The sound of Skyla’s boots connecting with the stone streets resonated through the alley. She winced a little at every whispering echo of her feet tapping against the streets of the alley, half trying to pretend that she didn’t hear it at all. So much for trying to be inconspicuous. She really would have to ask Ashen how he moved like he did, unheard, Skyla mused. Shaking the thought off, Skyla returned her attention to searching for the door, the one that her dreams directed her to. Knowing she must be getting close to it, she tensed her muscles, but each breath came easier all the same, as if she knew that something terrible, yet wonderful would happen… Her headaches had been slowly fading as she approached this spot. Hope renewed itself that she would never feel the pain in her mind again, though doubt still had its place within.

    Why here? In Thay?

    Skyla sighed deeply as the same questions began running through her mind once again. There was no point in wondering, for she wasn’t about to get answers any sooner.

    Just as she was about to give up looking, something caught her eye… Skyla came to a slow halt, and stepped back a few paces. Turning slowly on her heel to face her left… and there it was. The ebon door from her dreams. She had nearly passed it completely….But… Was it there a minute ago? Shrugging, she approached the door, reaching for the gilded bronze handle, when the door swung back on its own. A small shiver ran up her spine, seeing the light peeking through the door crack. Perhaps this wasn’t where she was supposed to go after all? Perhaps it was all a mistake.

    “Come in Skyla…”

    The again, perhaps not.
    Pushing the door open the rest of the way, Skyla entered a small dusty room, stacks of books and piles of scrolls everywhere. Tipping on the top of her toes, she saw a man seemingly hiding behind the stacks. Pale eyes looked up, framed by an old weathered face and bedraggled, curly locks of white hair.

    “You are Skyla Vea’Draeven.. Correct?”

    Nodding her answer Skyla took another step towards the wizard’s desk. The man stood from his seat, bowing slightly before Skyla.

    “Well then, follow me… your room is just down the hallway, and I expect you should get a good rest and meal in you before we begin” Said the elderly man as he waved his hand in the direction of a hallway lined with doors. “I am the wizard Nosyert. I’ll be seeing to your comforts, though don’t expect many. I’ve got work to do and your testing to prepare…”

    “Testing?” Skyla’s voice creaked as she followed through the corridor, and was lead into a small room. “Sir… Perhaps there’s been some mistake… I’m not here for a test.”

    Looking Skyla up and down appraisingly, Nosyert merely nodded to himself. “You are the right one… there’s no mistaking that hair.” A small smile peeked out on the corner of his lips, meeting her inquisitive gaze. “Get some rest… and eat. Food will be here shortly, and you’ll need every bit of strength you got in that puny body of yours.”

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………

    _Sitting outside the window. Watching, waiting, wanting to be inside.

    I am so hungry, and I beg to eat.

    It’s been here from birth, and shall always be a part of me until I die.

    Let me out … you cannot keep me inside forever.

    Open the door…_

    Skyla woke with a start, hearing a heavy knock on the door. Creaking slowly as it opened, Nosyert stepped through.

    “I hope you’ve had enough, and there’s no more time if you haven’t.” Nosyert’s eyes gave her another once over, shaking his head and clucking his tongue. “Come on…let’s get this over with. I’ve got things to do.”

    Hopping out of bed, still fully dressed, Skyla followed the man through the corridor once again, turning again and again, following hallway after hallway. Slowly, the halls widened… until it became cavernous, and a large ornate door with carvings of mages casting spells at one another marking the end of the walk.

    _Open the door…

    I await you inside…_

    Closing her eyes, Skyla pressed against the seem of the doors, opening the path to step inside…


  • Forging Links

    ((Since I seem to be confusing alot of people with some of my stories, and I know I'm really good with that, I've reposted Sky's backstory here for those who care to read. I feel it explains alot of the recent stories, and Skyla's current disposition, and how she arrived to it. Enjoy!))

    "Doors"

    The rays of the morning sun peeked through the window, waking the sleeping girl. She rose out of her slumber, padding in her bare feet over to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out at the town square bellow. Watching the townsfolk pass by, going about their morning errands, preparing for the day ahead.

    “How did I come here? How have I become what I am?” Turning back to her valise, she removed the garments for wear that day, and laid them out on the bed to dress.

    She remembered…

    Playing with her brothers and sisters, only a child. Running down the hall of her family home, knocking over a table on which a vase of flowers stood. Table, flowers and vase went crashing to the floor. “Why can you not act like a lady like your sisters?” said her mother, directing the maids to clean up after the mess. Drug down the hall to her room to be alone, to think about her actions, the door slammed behind her.

    “Why am I so weak?” She walked to her bedside, picking up her scabbards, pulling them around her hips and buckling them loosely.

    She climbed the trees, causing her parents and tutors to scold her angrily on the proper decorum of a lady. “Why can you not behave? We are expecting guests, do not embarrass us. Go dress now and hurry.” Taken by the hand to dress for dinner, the door slammed behind her.

    “What is wrong with me?” She picked up her bow and brought it around her shoulders to anchor over her back.

    In a fit of frustration, heat radiated from her fingers to burn the brush that she was using to undo the tangles in her sister’s hair. “Why did you do this? What have we done to make you do this?” She shook her head, not quite understanding herself, frightened by what she had done. “I think… I cast a spell. Like uncle does…” Taken by the hand, she heard her mother say, “Magic is the path of ruin, and it will destroy you.” Mother slammed the door behind her.

    “Who am I?” She pulled her gloves over her arms, threading her fingers together, tightening the fabric over her hands.

    Eve of her eighteenth birthday, the night before her wedding, and she found herself in her father’s study. On his desk was a book, bound in crimson red. Opening the book, reading the passages out of curiosity, she found that she was not who she thought she was. “I am not my parent’s daughter.” The man who she had known as father her entire life came through the study door, and she turned to face him. “Why did you not ever tell me?” She asked him, the only man she had ever known as father, looking at her with shocked expression, speechless to answer. Running out of the study on the path to her room, she passed through the halls, stopping when she heard the sounds of two behind the door. Understanding more by the second, she decided to open the door. Her fiancé and maid were together, on the bed, making love. They turned in horror to see her, as she regarded them unemotionally. Turning on her heal and exiting out the door, she continued on to her room to pack her things to leave.

    She hugged her family, one by one, telling them goodbye, wishing them good luck, and that she would always love them as she had always known them. They didn’t understand why she needed to leave, not quite understanding it herself. But it was something that must be done.

    Picking up her pack from the floor, plucking out the letter she would send to her family. Hesitating for a moment she moved towards the door. “Today will be better. Yesterday no longer matters. Today I will start anew.”

    Turning the knob, Skyla left her room to meet the day stronger and with more confidence than she had ever before. All the doors that had closed no longer mattered, for she was opening one herself.

    “A Splitting Headache”

    Skyla vaulted out of her bed, falling to her knees onto the floor and clutching her head in between her hands. Fear, violence, loathing, despair all rushed through her veins, freezing her from core to her skin. Why were the headaches becoming so unbearable? What was she supposed to do?

    "Let me out, let me feed. You know you want to… you cannot keep me inside forever. "

    if you won't let me…

    "I’ll take everything away…"

    She couldn’t let it take away anything… Skyla had found so much here, and losing any of it would be unbearable. Perence and Roubanes, two of the best friends she had ever had. Aspen, Bram, Scutum, and all the others that she so enjoyed spending time with. And Ashen… Skyla could not give him up…

    Reaching her hand out, curling her fingers over the handle of his scimitar brought her calm. Slowly but to be sure, the headache subsided, leaving a worn, wasted girl, curled up on the ground.

    _"You know what to do…"

    "Time to leave…"_

    Skyla nodded in agreement as she heard the voice. Looking out the window, she glimpsed the sun, the fire that brought warmth to Toril. She wanted desperately wanted warmth again.
    “Time to leave…” The words rang true… it was time to leave.


  • Pale Rider

    _When he opened the fourth seal, I heard the fourth living creature saying, "Come and see!"

    And behold, a pale horse, and he who sat on it, his name was Death. Hades followed with him. Authority over one fourth of the earth, to kill with the sword, with famine, with death, and by the wild animals of the earth was given to him._ (Revelations, Chapter 6, Verses 7/8 )

    –-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Two become one, death be done. Two become one, death be done.

    Can’t sleep. Sleep meant seeing things, terrible things. Terrible things that scared the soul more than anything ever had.

    Balance was gone. The opposites would kill each other before long.

    Earth would quake,
    Skies will fall,
    Ice become strong,
    Fire burns all.

    Two become one, death be done. Two become one, death be done.

    The pathways had been found, and doorways opened.

    Sleep would only coming during the day for now, never again during the night. Not while the knight rode in the land.

    It was during the night that the shadow would eat the light. The light was so much weaker when its purpose was gone.

    Light forgot why it shined, and left all else running for safety.

    All except for the shadow.

    The Shadow was walking, and taking more than its share.

    Two become one, death be done. Two become one, death be done.

    The balance was gone.

    No more sleep. Not in the shadows.

    Last night, I fell asleep and had a dream. And I saw a pale rider on the horizon.


  • Link II: Weakness

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    Was that her boots again? No… this was something different. She wasn’t back in Thay. She was still here, here in Peltarch.

    Tap. Drip. Tap.

    Glancing up through the slits of her eyes, her teeth chattered, with cold and nervousness as she looked across the room. It was just the water pitcher, cracked in the bottom; it had begun to drip water on the floor. There was no one there. No door. No father here to help her again. She had no one.
    “Go to the center and wait for your opponent.” Said Nosyert, pointing to indicate a square outline in the center of the room.

    Images of her first trip into the lands of Thay wafted through her mind. Hoping there was something there that would help her, she studied every detail of that journey. Of her first fight within the mage’s circle. How was this time she had taken on a form of fire so different from the others? She asked herself. No headaches preceded it… she was more in control of herself now, of her abilities… there were no voices, urging her to destroy.

    Rolling onto her stomach, she wrapped her arms around her body. Why did she feel so terrible now? Like someone had… but that was impossible.

    Skyla looked to the place that Nosyert pointed to, staring in wonder at the shape, then turned her gaze back to the old weathered wizard. “No.. I cannot.. I’ve not been challenged.” She sputtered, when thought suddenly came into her mind. “You challenge me? But.. I don’t know who you even are…”

    So much like before… but… something was wrong…
    Something was very wrong about this time…

    Nosyert shook his head, looking upon Skyla with a dose of amusement. “Not I…”, gesturing to a far shadowy corner of the room. “That is your opponent.”

    Skyla’s temples pounded with ferocity, and things in the room began to spin. Images, from two different times crossed over each other. In one moment she saw Aspera, sitting on the bench across from her, sending over her crystalline snowflake, and the next, she saw Alyks, looking down at her with sad eyes. And her neck… Was it bleeding?

    The lines of objects vibrated and blurred, and then she was back in Thay. Truly, completely there.

    –--------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was the same as before, and the duel was about to begin.

    “_That…_” came a whisper, warm and wet on her ear, “_Is your opponent._”

    From the shadows stepped a woman. Fairly short, and unimposing in looks, with strange sapphire eyes and a pretty mouth. Chin length hair, mussed and wild. The color of crimson fire…

    And her neck, her legs, her arms. All of them, were in shackles. It was Alyks, and she was crying. Skyla saw that blood was trickling from under the skin bound by the irons, and that something was anchoring her mirror image to another person.

    "No, not her," said the voice, laughing around her.

    Suddenly, Skyla saw the chain tether pull back hard on its charge, pulling Alyks to the ground in a snap, and the resulting thud as she hit the ground.

    "I’ve been kept waiting. Good little girls shouldn’t keep a person waiting. Such bad manners," Mocked a voice from behind her, with words from so long ago.

    Sucking in her breath sharply, she felt a hand graze her neck, and then a sharp fingernail. Sounds of a person smelling her, and the touch of someone stroking her hair gently like a lover filled her mind became overwhelming.

    "Are you ready little girl?" The voice mocked her again, filled with amusement.

    So much the same, so different, Skyla’s mind struggled to differentiate the past and the present.

    The voice’s laughter pulsated against her cheek. “_No… you are not ready, not yet. But you will be._”

    Suddenly, she was turned around, the hands that were touching her gently before forced her mouth open. A mouth hard and jagged covered her own, followed by a scaly tongue, both threatening to take her breath away and choke her.

    Skyla’s eyes rolled back into her head as her struggle versus her attacker failed. Just before the world went back, she saw a vision of herself, next to Alyks in shackles, the two of them bound together in bloodsoaked rags.

    –------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Skyla’s eyelids shot open, and she arched her back against the bed, drawing in many forceful breaths into her chest. Minutes afterwards, she continued to breathe deeply, savoring each little taste of air, too afraid to look at anything but the ceiling of her inn room in Peltarch.