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Arahim · Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2009 10:56 am Post subject: The Gypsy Skull

Night had fallen sullenly, silently, and without event.

Arahim sat contentedly in his garden watching the many winking eyes of light dance in the distance, as his neighbors' windows came alive in soft glow. Keeping the creeping dark at bay, just for the now, until merciful sleep claimed them all, one by one.

The air was cool. It's stillness discontinuously interrupted by a whispering breeze, which sang sibilant through the many trees and shrubs which hemmed him in.

Secrets and promises wound their way seductively through these breezes.

The Lady Merrique's words rode through his mind insistently, as though carried by the night's air. Swirling around him. Shaking the leaves. Breathing directly into his ear.

"Bury the crystal skull in your garden. If you are of my Blood, the dreams will come."

Arahim · Posted: Wed Jul 08, 2009 10:30 am Post subject:

Weaving his way carefully through his rows of hand planted hops, Arahim turned and smiled distractedly. A sack slung over his shoulder.

Sylvan, limned by a pale, steady light issuing from their open front door, watched his shadow slink silkily behind him, and disappear only moments after he did. Swallowed by the tall fragrant plants poking tall into the night air. Their slight rustle sighing a breathy 'goodbye' meant only for her ears.

Face shrouded in shadow, her hands strayed unconsciously to the burgeoning curve of her belly. Without a secondary, vagrant thought to distract her, she decided to just wait.

Crowded on all sides by a rhythmic sea of darkest green, Arahim dropped to his knees and untied the leather thong to the sack. With both hands, and careful with his grip, he pulled out Merrique's peculiar gift.

The limpid skull was unusually cold to the touch, and seemed to pull into it any source of ambient light as though it were the very source of said light. Thought blanketed in starless night, the crystal touched Arahim's face with a very faint lucidness. Enough for those empty sockets to see his eyes, and hold him there, on his knees in the dirt...for the span of several breathes.

The hole was dug by hand.

Wet soil clogged every crevasse and fold on his palms and fingers. Earth burrowed beneath, and blackened his nails. Worms and stray roots cried silent outrage at the efficient, if not frenzied, displacement they were forced to suffer. And as the curious skull shone pearl, the dark of the hole yawned greedily for it's living light.

As Arahim placed the gypsy artifact within it's cheerless tomb, his thumb clipped a tiny, jagged imperfection, and drew blood. Marring it's pristine beauty with no less than three tiny droplets of red.

...then covered up with honest, Sanctan ground.

Arahim · Posted: Sat Jul 11, 2009 3:18 pm Post subject:

A blonde woman, clear,pale blue eyes touched at their edges by sorrows, cradles her child.

Face impassive, she sings lonely threnody.

Brightly attired, and raven haired, another woman watches her smiling. Keeping her secret. Her arms and hair ornamented.

She plays soft, dulcet lullabies on strings.

Between the two women, pointedly, an empty chair.

Sylvan Sherwood · Journeyman Joined: 14 Nov 2008 Posts: 107

It was, in a way she couldn't quite identify, disturbing to watch Arahim go through this bizarre ritual of burying the crystal skull. The thing had such a strange energy of its own, Sylvan could feel it in waves. But the feel of its magic was alien, nothing she had ever experienced. Worry for Arahim filled her; she had no idea if this type of magic would be harmful to him. Certainly, the telepathic and similar magics brought pain both physical and mental to the man. Once, that she saw, to the point of bursting blood vessels and causing the crimson liquid to pour from him.

So she stood back, away from him, away from that magic that seemed to resent her presence. She watched him, on hands and knees, working the rich soil of his garden with his bare hands. When he stood, his task completed, she stepped wordlessly out of his way to allow him entry to his home. With an almost ethereal movement he passed her, and she soon heard the sound of him showering.

How badly she wanted to ask him what was going on. What this skull was about. What he was up to. But she refrained. Instead, she went to the bedroom and climbed beneath the covers. By the time Arahim came to bed she was asleep, but sleep did not last long.

Soft laughter woke her, and from the foggy place of the half awake, she rolled onto her side. In his own sleep, Arahim was smiling, occasionally chuckling softly. An almost childlike sound, actually.

So in the semidarkness she lay, watching him sleep, fearful that soon he would wake with a scream, the pain of magic touching his mind.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought not, that it was as though she could feel--almost hear--a low hum of magical power. There was something foreign and demanding in the air. Something secret and not quite dark nor light, emanating from that crystalline grave so nearby.

Arahim · Posted: Mon Jul 13, 2009 5:41 pm Post subject:

A frost of faces flashed by him in too rapid succession. Burning after images on the backs of his eyelids, then fading like the passage of time leaving behind a mute grey.

Fathers, sisters, brothers, mothers and mothers.

He watched births form a cycle.

Saw death as a parent's final gift.

He walked next to men and women who cried and laughed. Lived long lives, and short.

A parade of forgotten lore, and lost memories. An unbroken bloodline.

And every face, without judgment, spoke the word, "Lost" to him, and passed into nothing.

When Arahim could take no more, drowning in this unexpected knowledge, two voices, alike and in unison...

"When you are ready, come find me."