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Eclyse Christian · Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2011 11:49 pm Post subject:

“Aurelia?” Eclyse’s voice echoed in the newly-constructed great hall. But her call was met with silence. The countess’ living quarters were abandoned and quiet. Construction had been halted, as if time had stopped completely. Supplies and furniture lay crated and strewn about the hall, as if everyone had been summarily dismissed from their duties without warning.

“Aurelia!” Eclyse called out again as she took the stairs to the main hall. But still there was no answer. In a dark corner, silhouetted by the hazy light from beyond the window, stood the countess, watching down over the gypsy camp below.

“I called out for ye. Din’t ye hear?” Eclyse approached Aurelia tentatively.

“I heard.” Aurelia didn’t turn her gaze from the camp.

Eclyse wrapped an arm around Aurelia’s waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t th’ end o’ the world, Aurelia. ‘Tis a challenge, but one we must meet with courage and strength.” The hammered copper platemail Eclyse wore contrasted sharply with the fine silk of Aurelia’s shift. But they had always been two halves of the same coin.

Aurelia tilted her head, leaning it on the Eclyse’s stern and unyielding plate shoulder, but still she watched the camp. “I haven’t the slightest idea how to be brave enough for this, Clysie. They’re dying.” She lifted her eyes from the camp, but only to allow her gaze to linger on the languid tendrils of smoke that spiraled heavenward just beyond the palisades of the fortress.

The countess sighed heavily, finding her place in Eclyse’s supportive embrace. “Scarcely one pyre burns out before another is lit. Ten dead, half of them children. Another fifteen ill. And none who have fallen ill have survived. These people – my people – are dying. What good am I, if I can’t protect them from that?”

Eclyse shook her head. “It’s on ye to provide what they need to protect themselves, th’ best they can. It’s not yer place t’ protect them from all th’ dangers o’ this world.” She loosed her hold on Aurelia, reaching up to lift the countess’ chin and look her in the eye. What Eclyse saw in those pale blue eyes unsettled her. Something wild and desperate, like a trapped fawn.

Eclyse furrowed her brow, but kept caution to herself, changing the subject. “There is someone I’d like ye to meet. Someone who wants t’ come ‘ere and see the ill. Someone who, maybe, can help.”

“No. Absolutely not, Clysie, don’t be foolish. This…thing…is killing everyone it touches. I won’t have anyone from outside exposed to it.” Aurelia’s eyes drifted again to the window, her attention turned again to the camp below.

“Lady Willowsong hasn’t fallen ill. She is around it every waking moment.” Eclyse offered in defense of her suggestion. “There are those who aren’t affected, for one reason or another. And this one, he’s different, too.”

Aurelia sighed resignedly. “And you don’t believe he will be susceptible to the plague?”

Eclyse shook her head, giving the countess a squeeze as she rested her chin on Aurelia’s shoulder and watched down over the camp as well. “I have every reason t’ believe he will be safe.”

“I trust your judgement, Eclyse. More so right now than my own. I will send a summons and make it known by the guards that he will be allowed entry. By what name am I to address him?” Aurelia turned to Eclyse and forced a smile.

Eclyse beamed, seeing a flicker of familiarity in her lifelong friend’s smile. “Thank ye, Aurelia. Ye can send it addressed to Verenger Whitwall.”

Eclyse Christian · Posted: Sat Sep 03, 2011 12:41 am Post subject:

Change was coming.

Eclyse ran up the theatre stairs two at a time to the third floor and burst into the guest room. She pushed open the stained glass windows and leaned her crossed arms on the smooth stone of the windowsill, looking down over the camp as the cleric approached the barricades at the front of the camp and paused to wait quietly.

Evening’s breath tousled her black tendrils, and fretted the edges of the faded brown robes the cleric wore, but he stood stock still as Ayana pushed aside part of the barricade to greet him. The rootworker looked around cautiously as she let him into the camp, and closed the barricade again behind them.

A pall hung over the camp that was unshakeable even for those who had not set foot inside. Death lingered there. It lingered in wistful sighs through the bare cypress trees, as if the spirits of the dead still twisted solemnly there within their branches – waiting and watching like the rest of the world.

And death hovered over the tents, a spectral, greedy hand, always reaching for more, long past the point of satiety. Here, death was never satisfied. One more…and one more…and one more. Where would it end, and how?

Sunset allowed the lanterns inside the tent to cast towering and twisted silhouettes upon the tent walls in shades of dirty parchment. Ayana’s darkened form bent over with a cloth, and tended the ill. Verenger stood just inside the tent flap, straight and still. With little warning, voices rose within the tent. Ayana fussed angrily with Rosar. Eclyse heard his protests, ire rising in his voice as well. Even the soft and stately voice of Verenger lifted and echoed through the camp as argument ensued.

“Spying, Clysie?”

The voice from behind her made her jump, and she straightened up instantly, then turned. Aurelia leaned against the doorway watching her. The countess’ eyes were sallow and pale. And always just beneath the surface of her gaze lingered the edge of desperation that worried Eclyse. “I’m not spying. I was just…”

Aurelia sidled up with a quirked brow and edged in beside Eclyse at the window, noting the silhouettes on the tent wall. “Spying,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Eclyse smiled and lowered her head. “I want to be there.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aurelia said flatly.

“HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A GOD??” Rosar’s unmistakable voice stirred the silence in the air around the camp, followed by apparent reprimand from Ayana, and protests from Verenger.

“Sounds like Rosar is making friends again.” Eclyse wrapped an arm around Aurelia’s waist as the two looked down over the camp.

A smile teased at Aurelia’s lips, but her eyes remained glimmerless and cold. “From the sounds of things, if the plague doesn’t kill him, Ayana might.”

Sarah · Visitor Joined: 18 Aug 2011 Posts: 6 Location: Ashencrosse

Change was coming.

Sarah peered around the corner from inside the kitchen tent where she busied herself under the premise of pouring doses of the yellow elixir into vials for Ayana. The strange new man had removed his faded brown robe and now stood in something more akin to what Ayana wore when she attended the ill.

“Another new healer?” Her words were whispered, half to herself as she watched the tented infirmary where lay the sick and dying, her Rosar among them.

The timbre of the conversation rose and fell on the evening air while rays of sunlight faded and died in the west. The elixir was doled out in neat rows of vials, and she folded clean linens when the man finally emerged again from the tent. Dishes had needed washed as well, but that made too much noise. For now, she would keep her tasks relegated to more stealthy chores. She would rather watch this stranger unaware.

The brilliant sunset set the horizon ablaze and painted its fire on everything it touched. The camp was awash with the conflagration of amber and orange. His eyes, strangely, were that same shade, and Sarah caught her breath at the beauty of it all. He had changed, donning the vestments of virtue that Sarah had seen only on Eclyse. The golden armour shone brilliantly, hued coppery by the brush of the sun spirits that painted him.

The man knelt beneath a barren cypress tree and laid out books. Alternately seeming to pray, and then curse people who weren’t there, his actions seemed quixotic to her, but beautiful all the same. He seemed frustrated, softly or silently pleading, his lips sending pleas heavenward as he knelt.

“Oh Brendan, I hope this one can help us.” Her words were hushed, for fear that the paladin would hear her and she would no longer be secreted away.

“If he can’t, I’m afraid you have more to fear from that than the plague.” His voice startled her, and Sarah turned to see where Brendan watched, and followed his gaze to a window on the third floor of the theatre. Lady Eclyse and the Countess stood watching the stranger, too. Eclyse whispered something to the Countess, a faint smile brightening her face as she did. But Aurelia’s visage was pale, and no joy touched her eyes.

“She’s just sad. We’re all sad.” Sarah turned to Brendan. “But maybe this man can help.”

Brendan chuckled silently. “Don’t depend on it.”

“He’s a good man, Brendan.” Sarah pleaded in a whisper.

“That’s what you said about Rosar.”

Sarah shushed him at once, and turned around to peer outside, for fear that someone had heard him. The camp was still hushed, and no one seemed to have been disturbed.

But turning back to Brendan, she once again found herself standing alone in the kitchen tent. Quietly, she whispered again to the spot where he had stood. “He is a good man.”
_________________
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
~William Blake

Ayana Willowsong · Adventurer Joined: 19 Jun 2011 Posts: 23

Change was coming.

Ayana fretted the drawstring of the bundle she’d packed for her journey. She knelt at the side of Rosar’s bedroll and watched him sleeping for a moment. But here was no time for hesitation. She reached out a hand and gently smoothed his hair, then touched his forehead lightly with the backs of her fingers. There was no fever. But there was also no sweat. His fever had been gone for hours. She furrowed her brow, fighting the panic that rose in her chest.

“Ayana?” Rosar spoke her name before he forced open his eyes. He was so weak now he could not sit up, nevermind standing.

“I’m here, Rosar.”

His eyes sought her out, but settled briefly on her pack. “You’re going?”

Ayana nodded. “Sarah can do anythin’ I can at this point. I’ve nothin’ left…I’ve poured it all out, and been left wantin’. All I can do now is ask someone higher for help.”

Rosar sighed and gave a slight nod. “I know.”

Silence opened up between them as the two looked at one another. She knew well that Rosar did not share her faith in the Goddess to provide the answer that they so desperately needed. But she also knew that his faith lay in Ayana herself to find that answer.

“You know, don’t you…?” He began, searching for the right words. “…that when you return I may not—“ he broke off, unwilling to speak what Ayana would be unwilling to hear.

“Don’t talk that way. Ye need to hold on.” Ayana’s voice would have been desperate if she had any desperation left to give.

“I haven’t had a fever in at least a day, Ayana. My body has all but stopped fighting it.” Rosar’s tone was even. But she knew that was only for her benefit.

“Then let your body rest. Hold on with your spirit, when your body is too weak to hold on alone. It’s a selfish thing to ask. But I need to know you’ll be here when I return. I won’t be long,” she promised.

What she left unspoken could have filled a chasm. Fasting and prayer had filled the scant hours between tending the ill where sleep would normally have fallen. With little rest and less to eat, she hoped that her sojourn would go quickly. Her body was already broken and empty, a vessel for the Goddess’ vision to fill. But if there was no vision – if she failed to find the answer – if something happened to her – all here would be lost. Such a thing was heavier than anything else she carried away from the camp.

All these things, he knew, too.

“Sarah has been instructed how to wrap and anoint those who pass. She will move them into the watchtower, and I’ll carry them to pyres when I return. Such a thing is far too heavy a task for a six-year-old girl, but I’ve no choice. She is the only one strong enough to do it.” Ayana sighed, shaking her head. The horrors seemed never to end.

Rosar nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help. However I can.”

Ayana’s gaze lifted to his. “Sarah will be your hands. Your knowledge and her strength. I have faith. But…if something should happen, and I don’t return…” Here, she faltered. The outcome would be unthinkable. But she pushed through to complete her thoughts. “If I don’t return, you must send Sarah away from here with instructions never to set foot in this camp again. She’s been through enough. Seeing the suffering through to the bitter end could do nothin’ to help her.”

“I understand. But you’re going to find the answer. I have faith.” Rosar forced a smile. But it wasn’t faith that she saw in his eyes. Oh, he had faith in her. She never questioned that. But here she saw hopelessness. A soul fading, a body too weak to fight anymore.

Ayana closed her eyes, finally unable to contain the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

Dear Goddess, please send your answer on swifter wings than mine.

Rosar Ashande · Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 1:30 pm Post subject:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

John Donne

Never before had Rosar's body felt so weak. For weeks, he had languished within this tent, the disease within him sapping his strength and, indeed, nearly all bodily feeling. Each night he closed his eyes, he expected it would be for the last time. And yet, in spite of it, he felt at peace. He had no great wish to die—no, he wished now more than ever to be given the chance to live, to breathe, to love, and to do good. However, for the first time, he knew he could meet death without regret—regret for those things he had done and for those he had not. He had done much to damage the peace and goodness of the world, and he had often held to the conviction that justice demanded his life. In recent years, however, he had come to realize the truth that one more death would be merely that. He had made it his purpose to restore—if but a small portion—of that which he had so brutally, so thoughtlessly, destroyed. If he were to live, to recover from this illness, he would continue with his quest for good. If he did not, then he knew that he will have done everything he had been able to do. At last, he had accepted the truth that he deserved the chance to atone for his crimes. That epiphany may yet cost him his life, but it will have been a meaningful sacrifice, made in the service of good.

Rosar had other reason to remain peaceful in the face of death. Somehow, being at the center of his miscast spell had caused the disease to affect him differently from the others. All around him lay the sick and dying, but whereas they were ravaged with relentless pain, Rosar had quietly and relatively painlessly wasted away, and much more slowly than the others. And, through it all, there was Ayana. She was his comfort, and he, hers. Of course, the others felt as secure in her care as he did, and why shouldn't they? Though none had thus far recovered, a healer is not judged by whether her patient lives or dies, but by the efforts undertaken to save them. This plague had taken a heavy toll on her psyche, yet Rosar's faith in her was unshaken. If there was a cure, she would find it; if there was not, she would strive to create one; and she would gladly die to do either. Whether she did so in time to save them hardly mattered—her cause was noble, her skill undeniable. For a healer, the enemy is death itself, and so the odds are always against her, for to take or to lose a life is no great feat. Rosar accepted this. The gypsies accepted this. Live or die, it was Rosar's wish that she should accept this, as well.

Ayana had gone, now, of course. She had embarked upon a journey to seek a vision from her Goddess, in the hope that it would provide a means to end the plague. Rosar did not share her belief in the nature of such things, but knew enough about magic to understand that these visions were not to be immediately discounted. More importantly, he believed in her; it mattered little whether she called a Goddess what he called mystical insight. He would wait for her, with every expectation that she would receive an answer, if, indeed, there was one to be had.

He would wait, and hope. He would also fight, for, though death was no terrible thing for a man at peace with himself, a gift as rare as life ought never to be relinquished lightly. It was his promise to her, and he had every intention of justifying her faith, just as she had his.
_________________
a.k.a., Killian Ond, Oliver Dunham, Iorwerth (ap Gruffydd), Husam (ibn) Sadid, Ortinlem

Ayana Willowsong · Adventurer Joined: 19 Jun 2011 Posts: 23

It began with a breath.

Ayana stood at the spring’s edge, draped in pristine white gossamer cloth. She uncorked and lifted a tiny glass vial filled with cloudy purple elixir to her lips, then tilted her head back and poured it out onto her tongue. She held the bitter potion a moment the length of a slow breath before swallowing, then took one last cautious look around.

Reassured of her seclusion here, she slipped the royal white raiment down off her shoulders and allowed it to fall into a silky puddle of fabric at her feet. Only when all worldly vestments had been stripped away did she step into the pool of water, heated by the constant and worldly motion of the earth beneath her feet. She immersed herself as she knelt on the smooth flat stone of the pool’s floor. The hot water scarcely covered the tops of her shoulders, but it heated her blood, warmed her flesh and bone, and – Goddess willing – sped the delivery of the elixir to every corner of her body.

She closed her eyes.

Nothing. Darkness only.

“Arise, Willowsong.”

And she did, giving not a thought for her nakedness in the presence of One who would call her forth in ritual. For here, she was not naked. As she arose, the waters of the spring clung to her. Here, she was clad in water and sunlight and air. She needn’t be ashamed. She stepped from the water toward the nothingness beyond in raiments that shimmered and moved as one with her. She stepped onto the edge of the world – into what she knew as her one true place in the universe. She took root in the earth and raised her arms to stretch up toward the sky. This was familiar. This was home. She was the willow, and raised her branches to the sun. But this time, the sun did not bless her with warmth. The sun dimmed, and the earth beneath her ran red with torrents of blood. And here, familiarity gave way to uncertainty and sorrow.

“Why, my Goddess?”

“You are a healer, are you not?”

“They are dying. They are all dying. This, I cannot heal.”

“You know your place. Why have you forgotten the rest?”

“Forgotten?”

“You are not only the willow. I have appointed you with a task, and you have forgotten.”

The song rang out clear and strong from every corner of the world. It echoed off canyons and wove itself through forests, skipped across the surface of oceans and delved to their cold and blackened depths, leaving no thing untouched, living or not. It reverberated through her body and shook her leaves. The notes were instinctive and primal. The voice was her own.

And the torrents of blood…stopped.

A flash of fire.

Then darkness once more.

Eclyse Christian · Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2011 7:12 am Post subject:

“Aurelia?”

Eclyse looked from room to room in the theatre. The place had taken on a darker and more foreboding air since Cezanne departed for Nujel’m and Aurelia took up her watch of the camp, haunting the theatre silent as a spectre moving from window to sorrowful window. The Countess hadn’t been herself for some time now, and Eclyse worried that the burden of recent events may have become more than she could handle.

At the end of the darkened hall, a door was ajar. A flickering slant of light crept from master suite, streaking across the hall and licking up the wall like flames. Eclyse paused outside, her hand resting on the latch as she slowly opened the door and peered inside. There was no light in the room, save for the crackling fire in the hearth. Aurelia stood silhouetted against the open window, ever vigilant in her watch over the camp below.

“Aurelia. Ye’r worryin’ me.” Eclyse approached quietly and placed a hand upon the Countess’ shoulder. “Ye stand and watch the camp all day. Every day. Have ye eaten?”

Aurelia stood silently, and for a moment, she wondered if Aurelia even knew she was there. Then the Countess took a breath, as if she had forgotten, in her grief, to breathe.

“She’s gone.” Aurelia’s voice was raspy and weak.

“Gone?”

“Ayana. Their only hope. Our only hope. She left yesterday. I watched her go.” Aurelia spoke without turning her eyes to Eclyse or responding to the touch when Eclyse wrapped an arm about her waist.

“She seeks help only, I’m sure of it. Aurelia, ye have to stop this. It’s driving ye mad….”

Aurelia turned, finally, and set eyes upon Eclyse. Her eyes betrayed what Eclyse feared the most – the fire might as well be burning there instead of the hearth, so wild and desperate was their expression. “Stop? My people are dying. How long until the plague finally escapes the bounds of the camp? Kills you? Kills your Lord Verenger? Kills everyone else here? How long until it slinks predatory from our freehold and kills countless others across the land? I took on the task of raising this community, and building somethin’ strong and beautiful, Clysie, and by th’ Gods, I won’t let it be torn down by somethin’ so senseless. Shall I let th’ good folk who set foot here t’ help those sufferin’, die th’ same painful death as my own?!”

“Aurelia. Calm, please. Breathe. We’re doin’ all we can do. I trust in Lady Willowsong t’ know what to do, to seek that which she needs t’ seek. It’s still contained to th’ camp. No one from outside has seemed affected, even after exposure to th' illness.”

Aurelia shook her head, her gaze empty but for the madness that masked her. She abandoned her vigil to sink down onto the edge of the bed, and Eclyse joined her, an arm around her shoulders, rocking her side to side to soothe her frayed nerves.

“But she’s gone, Clysie.”

Eclyse shushed her quietly and leaned her head in, resting her temple against Aurelia’s. “Ye need sleep, Ainm Ceana.” She pulled back the rich velvet bedding and fine linen sheets, and helped Aurelia to lie down. “I’ll watch o’er the camp for ye till ye wake. Fret not. Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.” She covered Aurelia and kissed her brow lightly. Resolutely, she closed the stained glass windows against the chill of night, then retreated from the room and closed the door behind her.

“But she’s gone…” Aurelia whispered to no one as she lay wide-eyed in the darkness, staring into the abyss. "Gods help us all..."

____________________________________________________________

* Ainm Ceana - Gaelic pet name
** Tá mo chroí istigh ionat - My heart is within you

Rosar Ashande · Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2011 2:35 pm Post subject:

Rosar watched as Sarah ground the ingredients in the mortar. He had told her to wear gloves, to protect herself from the plants within, but was she fully aware of the danger presented by the potion they were making together? It was a risk, though a calcualted one. Even so, he could not help but feel uncomfortable with involving a child. If it failed, would she feel responsible?

Sarah looked up from her work for a moment and flashed him an innocent grin. Rosar made an effort to return the expression, and he wondered briefly whether she though it sincere. Without a beat, she returned to her work, utterly unaware of any dishonesty in his smile, and his guilt was abated, at least partially: she was an innocent, and would remain so, whatever the outcome. Even if she would not, it was worth the attempt. If administered early on, the potion would have killed them before long, but at this point, they would die very soon without any intervention, perhaps as early as the following day. Rosar's heart chilled as he considered the trade-off he had successfully convinced himself was worth pursuing: the potential to burden a child's conscience with guilt was far outweighed by the promise of giving those who suffered a few more days' chance at receiving a cure.

In time, the ingredients were prepared. It had taken her longer than he would have, of course, had he the strength to do so, but Rosar was impressed with her effort. A natural affinity for alchemy, or a simple enthusiasm for crushing things? He had hoped it was the former, but the latter thought amused him, and he laughed within his mind—the first time since Ayana had departed. Rosar took up the work from there, far less physically strenuous, but more mentally demanding. He had Sarah deposit the ground mixture into an alembic, to which he added a yellow, oily substance—a liquid which would bind to the essence he sought as it heated. He explained the steps along the way: the heated vapors in one flask would travel along a tube connected to another, where they would cool and condense. To that, he would add the final, vital ingredient—a blend of blood taken from various creatures of mystical strength. A little drop would likely sicken a man, but produce no beneficial effects. Together with the herbs he had prepared, however, a potent potion to invigorate the body and spirit could be produced, though far too toxic for a mortal body to endure for long. He had hoped it would give them time to endure the disease. If they could be cured, it was a simple matter of administering the antidote.

Soon, the potion was completed. Rosar poured the reddish-brown liquid into a number of tiny vials, each etched with lines at every third of its length to indicate a full dose. He explained this to Sarah. She nodded. He knew she understood, but repeated his instructions. He had to assure himself as well as Sarah that everything was in his control, and that he would bear all responsibility for failure.

Taking one of the vials, he continued, "This is for me, Thomas and Agostino. The rest, I want you to give to everyone else. Can you do that? Remember, only one whole line's worth for each person."

Sarah smiled. "I can remember, sir." She mimicked his gestures, pointing to a line and moving down to the next. "One dose." She continued for all three lines.

Rosar was satisfied. He took a sip from his vial before handing it back to Sarah, who administered the rest to the others. The potion had an offensive taste, and burned like alcohol as it streamed down his throat. In seconds, however, he felt a surge of energy. His nerves were ablaze. He felt the sudden urge to stand, which he did, much to Sarah's concern. He wobbled—the potion could not take the place of natural vigor. Sarah darted over and steadied him by the arm.

"Hold on to me", she said with a frown. "While Ayana's not here to be strong for you, I can."

"It's all right", he said, although that was a lie. The world around him had begun to spin and swim, and his legs felt ready to collapse beneath him. He again lay down upon his bedroll.

"It helps?", Sarah asked.

"Aye", he replied, but added, "do not let anyone else out of bed, though."

Sarah winked at him. "Our secret."

Rosar could not help but return the wink. "Knew I could count on you. Once this is all over, we'll make another potion."

"Really?" Sarah asked, with more than a little excitement in her voice.

"Aye." Rosar hesitated. He might as well tell her now. "You see, even though the one we just made will help them, it might make them sick afterward."

Sarah considered this for a moment. "Ohhh." There was no note of anger or surprise in her expression, merely curiosity—and anticipation. "I can help with that!"

"I know you can." He smiled, and memories of his old mentors in Trinsic, Moonglow and elsewhere flooded his mind. He had often imagined what it was to be a teacher. Despite the grimness of the task, he felt pride swell in his chest—a feeling like no other he had ever experienced. For the briefest of moments, he wondered whether this was also how it felt to be a parent.

As if on cue, Sarah asked, quite innocently, "are you and Miss Ayana getting married?"

Rosar stuttered out a "no". In truth, he was at least as excited about the prospect as he was frightened, though it was much too soon to consider such things. A child is unburdened with such complications as propriety, and can be relied upon to ask those questions which, perhaps, ought to be asked—even if an answer is not immediately forthcoming—but never are.

"Why?", she asked.

"Well, people have to know for sure they're right for each other before they do that."

Sarah merely shrugged and dismissed his argument. "Pssh. You'd die for her."

"Yes, I would, but there's more to it than that." He sighed, feeling awkward. "Ahh, I think it is time for me to rest, and you have potions to administer."

"Fine!", she exclaimed. She saw through his attempt at redirecting the conversation, but knew there was little point in protesting. "You sleep well, Mister Rosar!" She patted him on his head before leaving, the container of filled vials in hand.

Despite the effects of the potion, he was exhausted. Change was inevitable, now—for better or for worse. Ayana would return, perhaps with the cure that was so desperately needed. Perhaps they may all yet be saved, or perhaps soon they shall all meet their end. Whatever else may happen, he had managed to save one life. He slowly drifted to sleep, content in the knowledge that to do so, he merely had to give his own.
_________________
a.k.a., Killian Ond, Oliver Dunham, Iorwerth (ap Gruffydd), Husam (ibn) Sadid, Ortinlem

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

The darkened world trembled.

“Agostino.”

Would that I had the voice to answer. The sight to find you. Would that your angelic voice could call me from my tomb and bid me again to walk among the living.

“Agostino.” And again the darkness quaked.

Oriana, Mio Amore, I can see your face. I hear you. Please do not leave me alone here. I have missed you for so long.

He found himself pushed, pulled, shouted forward, rushed to the surface. And just when he believed his last breath would not carry him another inch closer, he broke free of the darkness that shackled him. He woke with a gasp, to the sounds of screaming. The sensation was excruciating. The merest act of drawing breath set his lungs ablaze. It took a moment to realize that the voice wailing in anguish was his own.

“Shh…Agostino…Shhh…” The voice was not Oriana’s, but that of a child. She placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently, whispering and shushing him. “It was a nightmare…Agostino, I need you to drink this. It will make you better…” Sarah’s voice was soft and pleading. Not his Oriana, but an angel nonetheless.

Agostino quieted gradually, assuming control of the pain that ravaged him. Sarah slid a hand into his tangled curls and helped him lift his head to drink the scant few drops, it seemed, of medicine from the vial she held. Flames consumed his throat in the wake of the elixir.

“Water, Sarah…per favore,” he pleaded.

She took the dipper from the bucket and poured it into a tin cup, lifting it to his lips as he struggled to find even enough strength to steady and guide her. He drank the water desperately until she poured the last drop onto his parched tongue. She lowered the dipper again to the bucket and lowered his head to allow him to rest as she filled the cup a second time.

“Mio Dio, why does death not take me and end this nightmare?” Agostino sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

“Maybe ‘cause life has other plans for you…Please hold on, Agostino. Miss Ayana will find a cure, you’ll see…”

Sarah lifted the cup to him again, but his head lilted to the side as the realm of unconsciousness pulled him under once more. Sarah smoothed his hair gently and whispered again. “Please hold on…”

Ayana Willowsong · Adventurer Joined: 19 Jun 2011 Posts: 23

God and Goddess, teachers and guides,
we ask you here to assist in the cleansing
of the earth upon which we stand.
Please bless this hallowed ground
And fill it with the positive light of the divine,
That there may be no room here for darkness to tread.

Ayana’s voice rang out over the camp as the sick lay gathered – cloistered, as it were, inside the towering barricades and around the campfire. Her hands were lifted to the sky in reverent and ritual prayer. This was her song – and it had ever been so. She was not only the willow that took root and anchored herself for any who needed her strength. She was the song that called in the spirits of the east, south, west, and north. Called upon the God and the Goddess, when her strength alone was not enough. And as the rootworker and priestess of her clan, she could recognize when her roots, alone, were not enough. She looked to the cleric standing beneath the barren cypress tree in gold armour, and gave him a respectful nod.

Verenger spoke with authority,and a gentleness that wove itself around each soul present as he spoke the name of his god and of justice. As Ayana had before him, he filled the camp with divinity that pushed the crystal’s curse upon the earth here, out.

Ayana breathed more freely as she ritualistically opened the circle again – one candle at a time, thanking the spirits of the east, south, west, and north for coming – thanking the God and Goddess for their blessings. If this was the fulfillment of her vision, the curse would hold no sway over her kin. Those suffering would cease, and grow stronger. The only piece of her vision which did not fit was the flash of fire at the end. It uneased her, but she had done all that she could. All she could do now was hope that it was enough.

Sarah · Visitor Joined: 18 Aug 2011 Posts: 6 Location: Ashencrosse

Sarah watched from the door of the tent as Ayana put out the candles, one by one. Agostino lay just inside, far too ill to move outside with the others. The action alone, the rootworker had said, might kill him.

The new barricades took away the serenity of the camp and made it look like a war zone. Crates, chairs, tables – all manner of wooden things, were precariously balanced atop one another to keep others out of the camp. Quarantine, Corvus had called it. For as much as he said the Countess just wanted to keep others out, it seemed more to Sarah that it was meant to keep people in. Who would jump the palisades to get into a plague-infested camp?

A man with an unfamiliar face approached from the south and entered through the only remaining hole in the barricades. Sarah had never seen him before, but he wore the red cross on his doublet that the other knights did. His expression was unsettled as he looked over the camp.

She didn’t know what significance his words held, but when he spoke, but the urgency in his voice told her they were significant all the same.

“The Countess approaches.”
_________________
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
~William Blake

Ayana Willowsong · Adventurer Joined: 19 Jun 2011 Posts: 23

“Corvus, come here.” Aurelia spoke, her voice brittle and cracking.

“Aye Countess.” He took up his torch and approached.

“The barricades are perfect. You’ve done well.”

Corvus looked around at the monstrous piles he had constructed under her orders, hesitating in his answer. “…thank you, Countess.”

Aurelia leaned in, her face contorted with some indiscernable emotion, and whispered something to Corvus that Ayana couldn’t make out. Corvus took a step backward, shaking his head. “N-no, Countess, I cannot.”

“Then I will do it in your stead.” She took the torch from his hand and pointed him to the only remaining narrow exit through the barricades. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s not who I am, Aurelia…it’s not who you—“

“Dismissed.” Aurelia’s command was unshakeable. Corvus slunk through the exit, but remained just outside, watching her closely. “Pir. Guard.” She gestured to the hole in the barricade, and her great white dog filled the gap, staring Corvus down. Quickly, she lifted a bucket of coal oil from nearby, and tossed it on the barricades. Before anyone could reach her, she lay torch to the glistening wood, and it erupted in flames so hot that Ayana could feel the blistering heat from across the camp.

“No!” She screamed, as did the others, as fire engulfed the barricades swiftly, without regard for the lives that hung in the balance.

“I will not see everyone I love destroyed by this senseless plague! It is the only way!” Aurelia screamed, as she threw potions into the center of the camp which smashed in the dust, hellfire erupting when the elixir made contact with air. The camp was awash with fire.

Ayana grabbed up Rosar, the nearest to her, blanket and all. The blaze erupted all around them, and she carried him to a far corner and kept herself between him and the flames. There was nothing she could see beyond the wall of fire, no way in, no way to see who else was inside, or who had escaped. Helplessness overwhelmed her.

“My Goddess, please…save the children.” Ayana pleaded tearfully as the fire raged before her. She hoped it would not come any closer, as she had no place to go to escape its wrath, and she would not abandon Rosar, who lay half-conscious behind her. But her plea was simple, unswayed by either her safety or his, or even those beyond the wall of flames whose lives seemed in even greater peril.

“Please save the children…”

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

Something stirred him from abyssal slumber. Screams, a flash of fire, red through heavy eyelids. He managed to lift them only a moment, long enough to realize he was moving. The child gypsy, Sarah, was dragging him, her hands beneath his arms.

Why? Please just let me die…

And the world went dark again.

Aurelia Bretane · Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2011 11:53 pm Post subject:

“Forgive me! It’s the only way!”

Her voice gave way to the screams of those whom the fire ravaged. The smell of burning flesh curled around her and tried to smother her cries.

Tears brimmed her eyes and spilled over her cheeks – though whether it was emotion or smoke that overcame her, she could not say. Perhaps even in the days to follow.

Behind her, the great white dog snarled and snapped at Corvus as he tried to breach the barricades and run into the fire. Chaos unfolded before her. She locked eyes with Verenger Whitwall, but only for a moment. Then he, too, was immersed in flames as he wrestled an infant free of its mother’s charred deathgrip.

Everything around her broke into pieces – the sky, the ground, the fire, the child, the knight. It shattered and gave way to madness.

Forgive me…It’s the only way…

Sarah · Visitor Joined: 18 Aug 2011 Posts: 6 Location: Ashencrosse

“Agostino wake up! Wake UP!” Sarah dragged him with all her strength as the fire engulfed the barricades, and the flames licked up the sides of the tent.

“Please, wake up…” She had begun to cry in desperation.

“I told you she was the one you had to worry about.” Brendan stood amidst the fire with a self-satisfied smirk, watching the chaos ensue around the Countess.

“Shut UP Brendan!” Sarah cried out as she pulled Agostino free of the camp and left him on the perimeter near the palisades.

The medicine! Again she dashed into the tent to retrieve what was left of the elixir, just in case the cure did not take hold for those who survived.

A crack, a rumble, and fire came down on top of her. Flames licked and melted and sizzled her flesh as she screamed, trapped as she was beneath an inferno of debris. Her gaze caught Brendan’s for only second. Her brother's eyes were wide with terror. With seemingly every ounce of energy he could summon, he cried out, but his voice was a ghostly whisper as Lord Verenger passed by with the infant tucked tightly against him.

“Sarah!”

And Brendan vanished, his spectre melding with the flames as Verenger, by fate or by guidance, dove beneath the fiery collapsed tent and reached out his hand to Sarah. The world spun around her, and greyed out.
_________________
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
~William Blake