The blade slipped from Aranel's hand and clattered on the cobblestone pavement.
Her eyes closed and she swayed slightly, as if held in the comforting arms of a mother rocking her child to sleep. Her mind was too muddled to think - she could only silently accept the comfort the song brought to her soul.
When she re-opened her eyes, they were moist with more than rain. The song had awakened a memory... one that would create more questions when she found time to ponder it...
She remembered a face of a beautiful elven woman leaning over her cradle - singing that same lullaby - a peaceful smile on her face.
My mother? she wondered briefly... but the moment was fleeting and quickly Aranel was brought back to the present.
Wordlessly she reclaimed the fallen weapon and returned it to her belt. She placed a hand on Julen's arm, and motioned to the street with a nod of her head. "We should go now... "
She turned her face back to the direction he would lead, and without meeting his gaze she whispered, "Thank you..."
Musical Illusions
“Thank you...”
Julen opened his mouth, but found himself without any reply. The usual answer of “You’re welcome” sounded too glib, too self-satisfied, as if he was some knight on a white horse who had rescued Aranel from monsters. True, he’d given her a song. A very special song. But he still owed her a lot more than that for risking herself to get him out the tavern. So, instead of saying anything, he reached over and took the hand she’d placed on his arm, giving it a soft squeeze. Then, with almost comic protectiveness, he pulled her hood back up to shield her from the rain, before leading her from the alley.
After a long, wet walk, periodically interrupted by the need to leap across overflowing gutters or dart beneath the waterfalls pouring down from rooftop drainage spouts, they arrived at the bakery. Julen’s room was in the back, in what had once been a storage shed before the bakery’s current owners made some modifications. Hastily, Julen unlocked the door, ushering Aranel into a small, simple, but clean and tidy room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get a fire started.”
Pausing only to shake the rainwater from his hair, Julen began to take logs from a pile in one corner of the room and lay them on the hearth. “By the way, my name is Julen. And, as you’ve probably guessed, I’m not an outlaw or a king. I’m just a farmer from Shim.” He paused long enough to give her a self-deprecating smile. “And not even a very good farmer, apparently.”
Julen opened his mouth, but found himself without any reply. The usual answer of “You’re welcome” sounded too glib, too self-satisfied, as if he was some knight on a white horse who had rescued Aranel from monsters. True, he’d given her a song. A very special song. But he still owed her a lot more than that for risking herself to get him out the tavern. So, instead of saying anything, he reached over and took the hand she’d placed on his arm, giving it a soft squeeze. Then, with almost comic protectiveness, he pulled her hood back up to shield her from the rain, before leading her from the alley.
After a long, wet walk, periodically interrupted by the need to leap across overflowing gutters or dart beneath the waterfalls pouring down from rooftop drainage spouts, they arrived at the bakery. Julen’s room was in the back, in what had once been a storage shed before the bakery’s current owners made some modifications. Hastily, Julen unlocked the door, ushering Aranel into a small, simple, but clean and tidy room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get a fire started.”
Pausing only to shake the rainwater from his hair, Julen began to take logs from a pile in one corner of the room and lay them on the hearth. “By the way, my name is Julen. And, as you’ve probably guessed, I’m not an outlaw or a king. I’m just a farmer from Shim.” He paused long enough to give her a self-deprecating smile. “And not even a very good farmer, apparently.”
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Aranel Nolatari
- Outsider
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Wed Dec 27, 2006 7:47 pm
Grateful to be out of the rain, Aranel removed her rain-soaked cloak and laid it over a chair, then pulled the chair towards the soon-to-be fire so that it would dry. The rest of her garments were soaked through as well, but she preferred not to ask her host if he had a robe or sheet she might borrow.
Her main concern was her bow and arrows – it would not do to have them stay wet and potentially warp. She carefully began laying them out on the floor by the wall closest to the fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the man begin to prepare a fire, and she was somewhat relieved when he finally told her who he was.
Meeting the man she now knew as Julen had happened so quickly and unexpectedly, it still seemed vaguely surreal to Aranel. But he seemed honest – and truly interested in her welfare as she had been in his. A beginning, she could hope, to some form of friendship.
“We all have to come from somewhere, I guess…” Aranel replied with a wry grin. “Farming is honest work at least… I half-thought you might secretly be a dark mage playing tricks.” She paused for a moment, then with a curious look voiced her question. “So… your voice… the magic… is it something you cannot control?” She thought back to the experience in the tavern – and how deeply Julen’s songs had been able to touch her.
It was a strange gift…
Her main concern was her bow and arrows – it would not do to have them stay wet and potentially warp. She carefully began laying them out on the floor by the wall closest to the fireplace. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the man begin to prepare a fire, and she was somewhat relieved when he finally told her who he was.
Meeting the man she now knew as Julen had happened so quickly and unexpectedly, it still seemed vaguely surreal to Aranel. But he seemed honest – and truly interested in her welfare as she had been in his. A beginning, she could hope, to some form of friendship.
“We all have to come from somewhere, I guess…” Aranel replied with a wry grin. “Farming is honest work at least… I half-thought you might secretly be a dark mage playing tricks.” She paused for a moment, then with a curious look voiced her question. “So… your voice… the magic… is it something you cannot control?” She thought back to the experience in the tavern – and how deeply Julen’s songs had been able to touch her.
It was a strange gift…
Aranel Nolatari Fletcher
After heaving a final log onto the hearth, Julen kindled a fire. Then he turned toward Aranel. When he saw her laying out her bow and arrows, the sight fascinated him. He wasn’t overly familiar with weapons. But he could tell that the bow and arrows were expertly crafted, and the way she handled them with a mixture of competence and reverence reminded him of how he treated his most treasured farming tools. Intrigued, he wondered just how well she could use them, and if she’d ever used them on anything other than a wild animal. And he wondered what had driven her to bring them to a city like Marn. But before he could ask her anything, she spoke.
“Farming is honest work at least...”
“I loved farming,” Julen admitted with a wistful sigh. “I understood my land so well that I could lift a handful of dirt and tell just which crops would grow best in it that year. It wasn’t an easy life. But when you look out over a field of ripe wheat -- wheat that you pushed into the ground with your own fingers, wheat that you watered with buckets drawn from your own well, wheat that you tended with so many hours of your own life -- then you know for certain that you’ve done some good in the world.”
And that reminded him. Shrugging off his coat, Julen unknotted the strings of a small pouch tied to his belt. As he had feared, brownish water dripped through the fabric, and the contents felt like mud. He’d definitely lost a bit. But still, some soil remained, and as long as some remained, he wasn’t completely cut off from his home. Carefully, he tied the pouch strings to a nail above the fireplace, hanging it up to dry. Then, determined to keep his thoughts from giving in to melancholy, he addressed Aranel’s question about his singing.
“As for the singing, you’re right. I can’t control it.” Julen shook his head. “I never asked for magic -- never read a forbidden book or stole an enchanted trinket. But when I sing, when I imagine the things I’m singing about, I conjure illusions of those things. Like this.”
Again, Julen closed his eyes, reaching for a song. But this time it wouldn’t be one of his mother’s. This song belonged to his father. Julen remembered his father taking him to Shim’s austere church, with its uncomfortable wooden benches, and its sharply arched roof like a dagger stuck into the belly of heaven. He remembered the sermons, unrelenting in their insistence that man was born to suffer. And then, amidst all the grimness, there would be a hymn, a moment when suffering would disappear, allowing beauty to take its place. Julen chose his favorite of these. Slowly, almost chanting, he began to sing about the angel of hope, who appears in darkness to guide those who have lost their way. And if, as he pictured her in his mind, he gave her high cheekbones, golden blonde hair, and magnificently blue eyes, he was unaware of making any conscious changes.
But perhaps his room was too warm, too bright and cheery, for an angel accustomed to inhabiting the darkest parts of man’s despair. Because, as hard as Julen tried, no image seemed to appear. At least, not that either he or Aranel could see.
“Farming is honest work at least...”
“I loved farming,” Julen admitted with a wistful sigh. “I understood my land so well that I could lift a handful of dirt and tell just which crops would grow best in it that year. It wasn’t an easy life. But when you look out over a field of ripe wheat -- wheat that you pushed into the ground with your own fingers, wheat that you watered with buckets drawn from your own well, wheat that you tended with so many hours of your own life -- then you know for certain that you’ve done some good in the world.”
And that reminded him. Shrugging off his coat, Julen unknotted the strings of a small pouch tied to his belt. As he had feared, brownish water dripped through the fabric, and the contents felt like mud. He’d definitely lost a bit. But still, some soil remained, and as long as some remained, he wasn’t completely cut off from his home. Carefully, he tied the pouch strings to a nail above the fireplace, hanging it up to dry. Then, determined to keep his thoughts from giving in to melancholy, he addressed Aranel’s question about his singing.
“As for the singing, you’re right. I can’t control it.” Julen shook his head. “I never asked for magic -- never read a forbidden book or stole an enchanted trinket. But when I sing, when I imagine the things I’m singing about, I conjure illusions of those things. Like this.”
Again, Julen closed his eyes, reaching for a song. But this time it wouldn’t be one of his mother’s. This song belonged to his father. Julen remembered his father taking him to Shim’s austere church, with its uncomfortable wooden benches, and its sharply arched roof like a dagger stuck into the belly of heaven. He remembered the sermons, unrelenting in their insistence that man was born to suffer. And then, amidst all the grimness, there would be a hymn, a moment when suffering would disappear, allowing beauty to take its place. Julen chose his favorite of these. Slowly, almost chanting, he began to sing about the angel of hope, who appears in darkness to guide those who have lost their way. And if, as he pictured her in his mind, he gave her high cheekbones, golden blonde hair, and magnificently blue eyes, he was unaware of making any conscious changes.
But perhaps his room was too warm, too bright and cheery, for an angel accustomed to inhabiting the darkest parts of man’s despair. Because, as hard as Julen tried, no image seemed to appear. At least, not that either he or Aranel could see.
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Instead, another was given that pleasure.
And such a pleasure it was. The sight of her. Oh! Radiant beauty was never so fitting a description as just now. It was as if a warm brightness shone against the faded background of a grey and ashen world.
It was even more beautiful than the voice, a voice faintly preceding the vision. A warm breeze carried over, passing under the skin to channel warmth deeper than any fire. It tingled the blood like a gentle static.
She was singing.
It was a song new to him, but it matched the mood of many a hymn. Could it be? Could it be one of the guiding hymns he must have been so in need of? He hardly knew all of the hymns, but in this one, he found something tangible, meaningful.
Hope.
And if he knew nothing of that song, one thing he truly knew about was hope. The hope he had found in the poor villagers handed a nobleman's household leftover, the hope sparked within him when he began as a page, the hope of the defenceless girl when the brutal militia-chief was interrupted. What was her name? What was her name?
At once, he saw the wonderous figure before him, and he saw that young girl's face. He felt a pang when he wondered what happened to her. He never knew if she had stayed or went, although he gave her the means to make her way elsewhere. With a sting he thought that she may have stayed behind, risking later revenge from the defeated militiaman.
What was her name? What was her name?
It seems much had stung him lately. The letter he had carried for one. None of that mattered right now, what was before him made his own petty cares seem trivial. Yet the first look on her face had said: Not to her, they were not trivial to her.
Standing in the face of such compassion put things into perspective, already he knew not to dwell so on his own private turmoil. There were so many others with pains, each equally important, and every bit as deserving of his attention.
In essence, it reminded him of one special hope; of the man he hoped to be.
Hearing the soft, rich tenor of the hymn gave him pause. It was a beautiful voice without doubt, clear and pure, sincere and heartfelt with every note. Still...
Matched against such delicate loveliness, the voice seemed apart somehow, as though her song was from a voice not her own. Perhaps even a male voice?
Faint wisps of magic beckoned to his senses, dancing from her form like discreet sparks. Was this to be expected? Surely a being from the heavens would bring it's own magic?
Now it passed a bakery, gliding smoothly with a long dress posing the question of if she really had feet. A slender hand reached out and traced the wall of the building, rounding the corner gracefully. In that turn, he was sure that their eyes met, and that a single tear glittered upon her cheek.
Now he was shocked. Afeared for what that might mean, he rounded the corner at a run.
She was gone. The rest of the world became real again.
Yet that same voice, that same song, echoed softly from beyond the door.
He knocked.
And such a pleasure it was. The sight of her. Oh! Radiant beauty was never so fitting a description as just now. It was as if a warm brightness shone against the faded background of a grey and ashen world.
It was even more beautiful than the voice, a voice faintly preceding the vision. A warm breeze carried over, passing under the skin to channel warmth deeper than any fire. It tingled the blood like a gentle static.
She was singing.
It was a song new to him, but it matched the mood of many a hymn. Could it be? Could it be one of the guiding hymns he must have been so in need of? He hardly knew all of the hymns, but in this one, he found something tangible, meaningful.
Hope.
And if he knew nothing of that song, one thing he truly knew about was hope. The hope he had found in the poor villagers handed a nobleman's household leftover, the hope sparked within him when he began as a page, the hope of the defenceless girl when the brutal militia-chief was interrupted. What was her name? What was her name?
At once, he saw the wonderous figure before him, and he saw that young girl's face. He felt a pang when he wondered what happened to her. He never knew if she had stayed or went, although he gave her the means to make her way elsewhere. With a sting he thought that she may have stayed behind, risking later revenge from the defeated militiaman.
What was her name? What was her name?
It seems much had stung him lately. The letter he had carried for one. None of that mattered right now, what was before him made his own petty cares seem trivial. Yet the first look on her face had said: Not to her, they were not trivial to her.
Standing in the face of such compassion put things into perspective, already he knew not to dwell so on his own private turmoil. There were so many others with pains, each equally important, and every bit as deserving of his attention.
In essence, it reminded him of one special hope; of the man he hoped to be.
Hearing the soft, rich tenor of the hymn gave him pause. It was a beautiful voice without doubt, clear and pure, sincere and heartfelt with every note. Still...
Matched against such delicate loveliness, the voice seemed apart somehow, as though her song was from a voice not her own. Perhaps even a male voice?
Faint wisps of magic beckoned to his senses, dancing from her form like discreet sparks. Was this to be expected? Surely a being from the heavens would bring it's own magic?
Now it passed a bakery, gliding smoothly with a long dress posing the question of if she really had feet. A slender hand reached out and traced the wall of the building, rounding the corner gracefully. In that turn, he was sure that their eyes met, and that a single tear glittered upon her cheek.
Now he was shocked. Afeared for what that might mean, he rounded the corner at a run.
She was gone. The rest of the world became real again.
Yet that same voice, that same song, echoed softly from beyond the door.
He knocked.
The knock dropped like a stone into the deep waters of Julen’s concentration. Momentarily caught between realities, Julen watched the pictures in his mind ripple as if they were no more than reflections on some liquid surface. Then he blinked, and they vanished, leaving only the familiar solidness of his room. Unsure if he had really heard anything at all, Julen stopped singing. Waited for the knock to repeat itself. And, when it did, he started for the door.
Most likely, it would be Effie, the bakery’s elderly owner. She often slept in the bakery, so as to get an early start on the next day’s work. Sometimes, when she heard him singing, she’d bring him day-old bread or other pastries too far past their prime to sell. Julen suspected she was trying to get him to sing in front of her. But, so far, he’d managed to wiggle out of that particular obligation. It had taken him a week to find a decent room that could be rented for so few bishan, and he couldn’t risk being thrown out because his landlady caught him accidentally using magic.
Reaching the door, Julen opened it just far enough so that his body filled the resulting space. If it was Effie, and she’d brought some sort of baked goods, then the food would be most welcome. But he didn’t want her to see Aranel. After all, he was a married man, which made the unchaperoned young lady in his room a tempting source of gossip he didn’t want to start.
But instead of an elderly woman, Julen found himself facing a man dressed in armor. Panic stuck Julen like a fist to his gut. Armor meant a member of the city guard, which meant one of the tavern patrons had reported him for the use of illegal magic. Julen’s arm twitched as he prepared to slam the door shut, his mind already plotting escape routes. The room didn’t have a window, but maybe if he put out the fire, he and Aranel could get up the chimney...
Slowly, however, a less reactionary part of Julen’s mind began to whisper its observations. True, the man was wearing armor, but it wasn’t of the type usually worn by the city guard. Also, the man himself seemed wrong. The guards Julen had dealt with tended to fall into two categories: tough and brutish or sly and sadistic. This man wasn’t either. Perhaps it was the warmth in his green eyes, or the earnestness on his young face, but Julen found his initial fear being replaced by cautious trust. Somehow, he sensed that this man didn’t mean him any harm.
“Um...hello? Can I help you?”
Most likely, it would be Effie, the bakery’s elderly owner. She often slept in the bakery, so as to get an early start on the next day’s work. Sometimes, when she heard him singing, she’d bring him day-old bread or other pastries too far past their prime to sell. Julen suspected she was trying to get him to sing in front of her. But, so far, he’d managed to wiggle out of that particular obligation. It had taken him a week to find a decent room that could be rented for so few bishan, and he couldn’t risk being thrown out because his landlady caught him accidentally using magic.
Reaching the door, Julen opened it just far enough so that his body filled the resulting space. If it was Effie, and she’d brought some sort of baked goods, then the food would be most welcome. But he didn’t want her to see Aranel. After all, he was a married man, which made the unchaperoned young lady in his room a tempting source of gossip he didn’t want to start.
But instead of an elderly woman, Julen found himself facing a man dressed in armor. Panic stuck Julen like a fist to his gut. Armor meant a member of the city guard, which meant one of the tavern patrons had reported him for the use of illegal magic. Julen’s arm twitched as he prepared to slam the door shut, his mind already plotting escape routes. The room didn’t have a window, but maybe if he put out the fire, he and Aranel could get up the chimney...
Slowly, however, a less reactionary part of Julen’s mind began to whisper its observations. True, the man was wearing armor, but it wasn’t of the type usually worn by the city guard. Also, the man himself seemed wrong. The guards Julen had dealt with tended to fall into two categories: tough and brutish or sly and sadistic. This man wasn’t either. Perhaps it was the warmth in his green eyes, or the earnestness on his young face, but Julen found his initial fear being replaced by cautious trust. Somehow, he sensed that this man didn’t mean him any harm.
“Um...hello? Can I help you?”
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Fear?
Maybe this was the right place after all.
Too many people mistook idealistic for naive, but such a profound wish to change the world for the better could only exist in one who understood the world well.
So cautiously guarding the door seldom happened with folk who felt secure in their environment. Here was someone with a reason to feel ill at ease answering a stranger at the door. While the reason could be no more than the area, it was an unfitting state of affairs for a man to be wary in their own home. Besides, if it was the area causing people to beware strangers at the door, then the area must have criminals for him to bring to justice.
Disliking the notion already, Railtus surruptitiously slid his foot into the threshold of the doorway. That subtle motion disturbed nothing, although if the door was to be slammed abruptly it would likely bounce off his boot... he could always heal his foot later.
Then he heard the man speak, making his head tilt in unmasked analysis. Information fell into place, being mentally compared. Something about that voice...
Snapping his gaze back into place, Railtus quickly thought of an answer. The question required him to explain himself first, and it was only a vague instinct that led him to knock on the door, nothing he could strongly justify. He had better make this good.
'I hope so.' he opened, in response to the question he was asked. 'I was led here. It appeared to be someone in distress, and I lost sight of them around this corner. I was concerned.' Still am, he thought, but was being cautious with how he phrased it. Then resolve clicked into place, and unashamed honesty took over. 'As I said, she seemed in distress. She was also singing in your voice.' He paused for that to settle, fixing his eyes on those of the stranger. 'And had an aura of magic. Shall we speak about this inside?' he suggested.
Maybe this was the right place after all.
Too many people mistook idealistic for naive, but such a profound wish to change the world for the better could only exist in one who understood the world well.
So cautiously guarding the door seldom happened with folk who felt secure in their environment. Here was someone with a reason to feel ill at ease answering a stranger at the door. While the reason could be no more than the area, it was an unfitting state of affairs for a man to be wary in their own home. Besides, if it was the area causing people to beware strangers at the door, then the area must have criminals for him to bring to justice.
Disliking the notion already, Railtus surruptitiously slid his foot into the threshold of the doorway. That subtle motion disturbed nothing, although if the door was to be slammed abruptly it would likely bounce off his boot... he could always heal his foot later.
Then he heard the man speak, making his head tilt in unmasked analysis. Information fell into place, being mentally compared. Something about that voice...
Snapping his gaze back into place, Railtus quickly thought of an answer. The question required him to explain himself first, and it was only a vague instinct that led him to knock on the door, nothing he could strongly justify. He had better make this good.
'I hope so.' he opened, in response to the question he was asked. 'I was led here. It appeared to be someone in distress, and I lost sight of them around this corner. I was concerned.' Still am, he thought, but was being cautious with how he phrased it. Then resolve clicked into place, and unashamed honesty took over. 'As I said, she seemed in distress. She was also singing in your voice.' He paused for that to settle, fixing his eyes on those of the stranger. 'And had an aura of magic. Shall we speak about this inside?' he suggested.
At first, the armored man’s description of following someone in distress only puzzled Julen. Was he talking about Aranel? If he’d seen her breakdown in the alley, then he might have guessed she was troubled, but why hadn’t he intervened then? Why had he trailed them all the way to the bakery before making his presence known?
Then the man got to the part about hearing the mysterious lady singing in Julen’s voice, and Julen felt the color drain from his face. It hadn’t ever occurred to him that he might cast illusions outside his own field of view. How many other times had there been? Times when he’d thought he had it under control, when he’d thought he was just singing, and in reality, somewhere he couldn’t see, he was creating visions of gods-know-what? It had been absolute folly to demonstrate his “gift” for Aranel. When was he going to learn that he couldn’t master it? Not even a little.
Julen wanted to glance back at Aranel, to see if she had some suggestion about what he should do. But he forced himself to keep looking straight ahead. So far, the man didn’t know that there was anyone else in that room. If this was a mistake, if he should have slammed the door on the stranger, he wanted it to be his mistake. Not Aranel’s.
Gods. I swear, if it wasn’t for Rosemary, I’d go join some nice little monastery. Take a vow of silence. Never sing again.
Lost in his thoughts, Julen nearly missed what the stranger said next. However, the man’s eyes caught Julen’s, yanking his mind back to the conversation. Magic. There, the man had said it. He’d guessed. Breath escaped Julen in a soft puff. Maybe he was tired, maybe he’d had a knife pointed at his throat twice too many times that night, or maybe the shock of seeing an armored man at his door had used up his last reserves of panic. But when Julen heard the man give voice to his secret, he didn’t feel fear. Just a sort of heavy resignation.
Stepping out into the rain, Julen attempted to pull the door shut behind himself. But it bumped against the man’s foot before it could fully close. More concerned with shielding Aranel than with his own welfare, Julen looked at the stranger with what he hoped was a proper mix of courage and dignity. “There’s no need to go inside. If you’ve come to turn me in, let’s get it over with. I won’t put up a fight.”
Then the man got to the part about hearing the mysterious lady singing in Julen’s voice, and Julen felt the color drain from his face. It hadn’t ever occurred to him that he might cast illusions outside his own field of view. How many other times had there been? Times when he’d thought he had it under control, when he’d thought he was just singing, and in reality, somewhere he couldn’t see, he was creating visions of gods-know-what? It had been absolute folly to demonstrate his “gift” for Aranel. When was he going to learn that he couldn’t master it? Not even a little.
Julen wanted to glance back at Aranel, to see if she had some suggestion about what he should do. But he forced himself to keep looking straight ahead. So far, the man didn’t know that there was anyone else in that room. If this was a mistake, if he should have slammed the door on the stranger, he wanted it to be his mistake. Not Aranel’s.
Gods. I swear, if it wasn’t for Rosemary, I’d go join some nice little monastery. Take a vow of silence. Never sing again.
Lost in his thoughts, Julen nearly missed what the stranger said next. However, the man’s eyes caught Julen’s, yanking his mind back to the conversation. Magic. There, the man had said it. He’d guessed. Breath escaped Julen in a soft puff. Maybe he was tired, maybe he’d had a knife pointed at his throat twice too many times that night, or maybe the shock of seeing an armored man at his door had used up his last reserves of panic. But when Julen heard the man give voice to his secret, he didn’t feel fear. Just a sort of heavy resignation.
Stepping out into the rain, Julen attempted to pull the door shut behind himself. But it bumped against the man’s foot before it could fully close. More concerned with shielding Aranel than with his own welfare, Julen looked at the stranger with what he hoped was a proper mix of courage and dignity. “There’s no need to go inside. If you’ve come to turn me in, let’s get it over with. I won’t put up a fight.”
Last edited by Julen on Tue Jan 30, 2007 1:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Of all the possibilities for a reaction, that was the one he was least expecting. Panic, he was ready for. Aggresion he had prepared himself for too. But this? To honestly believe he would be turned in and to just accept it? That was a mystery to him.
What he did learn, and he was unsure how he felt about the knowledge, was that this man was somehow connected to the lady in distress. By all reasoning, and instinct, he was unlikely to be the cause. Such seeming self-sacrifice would be unfitting were he the source of her pain, and he never thought to question how Railtus was aware of the magic - he referred to the aura quite plainly.
Remembering the art of speechcraft he had studied, Railtus thought it would be best to address the assumption that had been made.
'No. I have not come to turn you in. Now please understand that I must know what happened. My only concern is for the well-being of the lady, and you clearly know something on the matter.'
At no point did his foot move. In his heart and mind he trusted the man, admired him even if all things were as they seemed. Yet there was no way he would forsake a lady in need if appearances were deceiving. That notion crystallized a suspicion in his mind, and helped it come out into words.
'I know there is a reason you do not want me inside, if the lady is in there, I must be sure of her well-being with my own eyes. Beyond that I have no problems discussing this elsewhere, but I assumed this was a discussion you would rather not take place in the open street.'
His stance tensed slightly, braced for the event of a sudden rush that might otherwise unbalance him. For the most part, however, he made certain to keep his posture non-threatening.
'So. Please. Let me in and tell me what you know.'
What he did learn, and he was unsure how he felt about the knowledge, was that this man was somehow connected to the lady in distress. By all reasoning, and instinct, he was unlikely to be the cause. Such seeming self-sacrifice would be unfitting were he the source of her pain, and he never thought to question how Railtus was aware of the magic - he referred to the aura quite plainly.
Remembering the art of speechcraft he had studied, Railtus thought it would be best to address the assumption that had been made.
'No. I have not come to turn you in. Now please understand that I must know what happened. My only concern is for the well-being of the lady, and you clearly know something on the matter.'
At no point did his foot move. In his heart and mind he trusted the man, admired him even if all things were as they seemed. Yet there was no way he would forsake a lady in need if appearances were deceiving. That notion crystallized a suspicion in his mind, and helped it come out into words.
'I know there is a reason you do not want me inside, if the lady is in there, I must be sure of her well-being with my own eyes. Beyond that I have no problems discussing this elsewhere, but I assumed this was a discussion you would rather not take place in the open street.'
His stance tensed slightly, braced for the event of a sudden rush that might otherwise unbalance him. For the most part, however, he made certain to keep his posture non-threatening.
'So. Please. Let me in and tell me what you know.'
Julen hesitated. When the stranger spoke about a magical woman singing with Julen’s voice, Julen had assumed that he’d already guessed her illusionary nature. But now it seemed that the man truly believed there really was some sort of lady. Silently, Julen cursed himself for jumping to conclusions. Could he have done anything more suspicious than offering to turn himself in? The impulsive act raised too many questions, and ruined his chance to simply deny any knowledge about what the man had seen.
At least the man hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Julen felt intensely grateful for that. And as the man continued to talk, Julen began to admire his determination to help a lady who could be nothing more than a stranger to him. He seemed so eager to offer assistance, as if doing good was something he hungered after, like other men hungered after bread and meat. Julen almost regretted that he couldn’t present the man with a true damsel in distress.
The man seemed sincere, but Julen wasn’t just gambling with his own welfare. There was Aranel to consider. He didn’t know her story, didn’t know who or what might be chasing her. So he stared at the stranger, searching for some clue to tip the scales of his indecision. And, for the first time, he realized that the man before him was actually rather young. The man’s poise and manner of speech had initially masked his age, but as Julen studied him, he came to the conclusion that the man was actually several years younger than Julen’s own age. It almost felt as if two people had been squished into one -- a storybook knight off on some heroic quest and a young man looking slightly ridiculous as the rain dragged strands of white-blonde hair into his eyes. Julen couldn’t have said if it was the knight or the young man who swayed him. But when the stranger repeated his request to come inside, Julen stepped back, pushing the door open.
“Come in. But I’m afraid that you won’t find your lady.”
At least the man hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Julen felt intensely grateful for that. And as the man continued to talk, Julen began to admire his determination to help a lady who could be nothing more than a stranger to him. He seemed so eager to offer assistance, as if doing good was something he hungered after, like other men hungered after bread and meat. Julen almost regretted that he couldn’t present the man with a true damsel in distress.
The man seemed sincere, but Julen wasn’t just gambling with his own welfare. There was Aranel to consider. He didn’t know her story, didn’t know who or what might be chasing her. So he stared at the stranger, searching for some clue to tip the scales of his indecision. And, for the first time, he realized that the man before him was actually rather young. The man’s poise and manner of speech had initially masked his age, but as Julen studied him, he came to the conclusion that the man was actually several years younger than Julen’s own age. It almost felt as if two people had been squished into one -- a storybook knight off on some heroic quest and a young man looking slightly ridiculous as the rain dragged strands of white-blonde hair into his eyes. Julen couldn’t have said if it was the knight or the young man who swayed him. But when the stranger repeated his request to come inside, Julen stepped back, pushing the door open.
“Come in. But I’m afraid that you won’t find your lady.”
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Sir Karsimir
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'Thank you,' replied Railtus, 'and she is not mine, sadly enough.' said with an ironic smile, eyes dancing and sparkling.
Stepping inside, dripping ferociously on the floorboards, he focused his attention on Aranel snoozing gently near the fire. Recognition was clear on his face, with a studying gaze too intent for someone dismissing the possibility.
Sleeping there, she was beautiful. Indeed, as beautiful as what he took to be the angel of hope outside. Although the fire did not fully simulate that radiant, delightful glow, the appearance of contented sleep clearly unfamiliar on her face until then displayed all the brightness that the vision on loveliness before ever had. He smiled to look at her. That peace on her face seemed long overdue.
Let's hope it lasts.
While holding a respectable distance, he studied her for something else. No. He didn't feel it.
'Very well. That was... her. Slight differences in garb but the resemblance...' he paused, 'is unmistakable. And I can tell she has not been bewitched.' added Railtus as an afterthought.
With great effort, he finally tore his eyes away from her. Realisation struck him, and he stared sharply aft at Julen.
'You... were... protecting her.' he said, growing in certainty with each word. 'You did not wish... harm to come to her by your association.' The young man paused for a moment, as the truth showed more clearly, and understanding followed. 'Good man.' he said clearly.
Recovering of the stun of his discovery, he finally spoke with more composure. 'Where are my manners? My name is Railtus.' A studded gauntlet was offered in greeting. 'If you are willing, I much wish to hear your tale, and to share in your fire while it is going. It would spare me the rust.' That last part was delivered self-depreciatingly, but the next part wasn't. The next part was deadly serious. 'I suspect that your talent has already brought danger your way.'
Standing smartly, Railtus awaited the homeowner's response before considering himself a guest.
Stepping inside, dripping ferociously on the floorboards, he focused his attention on Aranel snoozing gently near the fire. Recognition was clear on his face, with a studying gaze too intent for someone dismissing the possibility.
Sleeping there, she was beautiful. Indeed, as beautiful as what he took to be the angel of hope outside. Although the fire did not fully simulate that radiant, delightful glow, the appearance of contented sleep clearly unfamiliar on her face until then displayed all the brightness that the vision on loveliness before ever had. He smiled to look at her. That peace on her face seemed long overdue.
Let's hope it lasts.
While holding a respectable distance, he studied her for something else. No. He didn't feel it.
'Very well. That was... her. Slight differences in garb but the resemblance...' he paused, 'is unmistakable. And I can tell she has not been bewitched.' added Railtus as an afterthought.
With great effort, he finally tore his eyes away from her. Realisation struck him, and he stared sharply aft at Julen.
'You... were... protecting her.' he said, growing in certainty with each word. 'You did not wish... harm to come to her by your association.' The young man paused for a moment, as the truth showed more clearly, and understanding followed. 'Good man.' he said clearly.
Recovering of the stun of his discovery, he finally spoke with more composure. 'Where are my manners? My name is Railtus.' A studded gauntlet was offered in greeting. 'If you are willing, I much wish to hear your tale, and to share in your fire while it is going. It would spare me the rust.' That last part was delivered self-depreciatingly, but the next part wasn't. The next part was deadly serious. 'I suspect that your talent has already brought danger your way.'
Standing smartly, Railtus awaited the homeowner's response before considering himself a guest.
Stepping back inside, Julen turned toward Aranel, prepared to perform introductions. But she’d fallen asleep on the floor, curled up beside her arrows like a mother chicken guarding its brood. A slight smile crept onto Julen’s lips. It was good to see her finally getting some rest. Doing his best to avoid dripping on her, Julen stripped the blanket from his bed and spread it over her slumbering body. Then, as he knelt beside her to tuck the cover under her chin, a strange feeling came over him. Why did he keep treating Aranel like a child? She’d saved him, and by all appearances, she was at least his own age. Why this fierce protectiveness? Was it possible that some part of his mind had channeled his emotions into this inappropriate response to keep him from feeling something even more inappropriate? Absently, Julen ran his fingers over the links of silver that supported the locket Rosemary had given him -- never before had they felt like such a heavy and binding chain. Shamed by his unfaithful thoughts, Julen stood hastily and turned toward the man in armor, glad that he’d begun to speak, giving Julen something else to focus on.
But the man’s words only stirred fresh turmoil. Aranel? The man had seen Aranel, except dressed differently? How was that possible? Confused, Julen glanced back at his sleeping guest, wondering if she’d somehow been responsible. But no. The woman had been singing in his voice, which meant she was definitely one of his illusions. Without meaning to, without even realizing he was doing it, he’d shaped his angel in Aranel’s image. Julen shuddered. What if it had been the guards, not this man, who saw the phantom lady? What if, because of her resemblance, they’d blamed Aranel for casting her?
When the stranger called Julen a good man, Julen didn’t feel particularly good. But he still took the extended hand and shook it. “Glad to meet you, Railtus. I’m Julen. And the woman asleep over there is Aranel. We just met this evening, when she got me out of a bad situation. I thought maybe I could help her in return.” Julen shook his head. “But I can see that I’m only putting her in more danger.”
For a long moment, Julen was silent. Then he forcibly shook off his brooding, even managing another small smile. “However, if you want to risk it, you’re welcome to stay. I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone rusting.”
Pulling another seat over to the fireplace, Julen positioned it next to the one Aranel had claimed, then gestured for Railtus to take off his armor and hang it on the chair to dry. “As for my ‘talent’ -- it’s not a talent. It’s a curse. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’d give anything to make it go away.” Drawing his arms close to his body, Julen clutched at them, digging his fingers in until flesh ached. The firelight reflected eerily across his face, a constant battle between light and shadow. “But it’s not going away. It’s getting worse. Right now, I only cast the illusions when I sing. But what if it starts happening whenever I dream? Whenever I even think about something? What if it gets to the point where I can’t tell what’s real anymore?” Julen bowed his head, allowing shadow to win a temporary victory. “What if it drives me mad?”
But the man’s words only stirred fresh turmoil. Aranel? The man had seen Aranel, except dressed differently? How was that possible? Confused, Julen glanced back at his sleeping guest, wondering if she’d somehow been responsible. But no. The woman had been singing in his voice, which meant she was definitely one of his illusions. Without meaning to, without even realizing he was doing it, he’d shaped his angel in Aranel’s image. Julen shuddered. What if it had been the guards, not this man, who saw the phantom lady? What if, because of her resemblance, they’d blamed Aranel for casting her?
When the stranger called Julen a good man, Julen didn’t feel particularly good. But he still took the extended hand and shook it. “Glad to meet you, Railtus. I’m Julen. And the woman asleep over there is Aranel. We just met this evening, when she got me out of a bad situation. I thought maybe I could help her in return.” Julen shook his head. “But I can see that I’m only putting her in more danger.”
For a long moment, Julen was silent. Then he forcibly shook off his brooding, even managing another small smile. “However, if you want to risk it, you’re welcome to stay. I certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for anyone rusting.”
Pulling another seat over to the fireplace, Julen positioned it next to the one Aranel had claimed, then gestured for Railtus to take off his armor and hang it on the chair to dry. “As for my ‘talent’ -- it’s not a talent. It’s a curse. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’d give anything to make it go away.” Drawing his arms close to his body, Julen clutched at them, digging his fingers in until flesh ached. The firelight reflected eerily across his face, a constant battle between light and shadow. “But it’s not going away. It’s getting worse. Right now, I only cast the illusions when I sing. But what if it starts happening whenever I dream? Whenever I even think about something? What if it gets to the point where I can’t tell what’s real anymore?” Julen bowed his head, allowing shadow to win a temporary victory. “What if it drives me mad?”
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Sir Karsimir
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Throwing off his breastplate, Railtus left the hardened leather pieces were they were, leather being unlikely to rust. The breastplate hung from the chair, reflecting the dancing flames to add shadowplay to the walls.
It seemed best to simply let Julen speak. It would do little to agree or disagree with him. Looking at Aranel, between the ease on her face and the care with which she was being treated, Railtus felt she was in good hands.
Then he watched the man sink into despair, and enough was enough. If there was one thing Ydren taught, it was faith in the strength of the hearts of men. "And what if, Julen?" It was a question asked so often in despair, but a question despair could never answer. "What if it were a weaker man faced with this? A man without the strength to bear it. What if, Julen?"
"Sometimes what we deserve doesn't matter. The kind of world we hope for comes from constant effort, but the effort is worth it. One thing courage will always gain us, is courage, which I assure you is a thing worth having."
Part of the young man thought to stop before he proceded into a speech, a part he ignored. "There are possibilities that could help you. Most of what I could find would involve a risk, and the time has not come for such drastic measures."
It seemed best to simply let Julen speak. It would do little to agree or disagree with him. Looking at Aranel, between the ease on her face and the care with which she was being treated, Railtus felt she was in good hands.
Then he watched the man sink into despair, and enough was enough. If there was one thing Ydren taught, it was faith in the strength of the hearts of men. "And what if, Julen?" It was a question asked so often in despair, but a question despair could never answer. "What if it were a weaker man faced with this? A man without the strength to bear it. What if, Julen?"
"Sometimes what we deserve doesn't matter. The kind of world we hope for comes from constant effort, but the effort is worth it. One thing courage will always gain us, is courage, which I assure you is a thing worth having."
Part of the young man thought to stop before he proceded into a speech, a part he ignored. "There are possibilities that could help you. Most of what I could find would involve a risk, and the time has not come for such drastic measures."
Julen raised his head, meeting Railtus’s green eyes with his own brown ones. “But that’s just it. I’m not a strong man. I’m not a brave man.” Struggling to explain all that he wasn’t, Julen seized hold of the details which hinted at everything Railtus was -- the finely-crafted armor, the sophisticated speech, the utter conviction behind his words. “I wasn’t born into rank or wealth. I’ve had no formal education. No one taught me the finer social graces. I can’t fight. My religion is a hodge-podge of my mother’s nature superstitions and my father’s belief in a rather joyless god. Don’t you see? I’m not you.”
Moving away from the fire, Julen walked over to his bed and sat down on it, resting his chin in his hands. “I was born on a farm in Shim. My mother died when I was quite young. My father lived until I was seventeen. After he died, I inherited the land, and worked it well enough. I fell in love with a girl. Rosemary. I courted her, and in due time, she agreed to be my wife.”
Again, Julen stroked the silver links of chain that circled his throat. “We were happy. Happy the way that only two people in love can be. But everything started to go wrong. Crops failed, equipment broke, animals died for no reason. Soon we couldn’t afford to keep the farm going without additional funds. So I came into Marn to earn extra money. During the day I do whatever odd jobs I can get, and during the night I sing in taverns -- except that sometimes when I sing, I accidentally cast magical illusions. That’s what happened a few hours ago. If it hadn’t been for Aranel, I probably would have been attacked by an angry mob. When you knocked, and I saw your armor, I was scared to death because I thought you were a guard come to drag me off to the Judges.”
Julen sighed, pushing the air from his lungs as if it had suddenly turned too old and thin to breathe. “That’s me. It’s different for you. You were born to thwart villains, slay dragons. Anyone can see it. You’re a hero. But not me. I’m just a farmer from Shim.”
Moving away from the fire, Julen walked over to his bed and sat down on it, resting his chin in his hands. “I was born on a farm in Shim. My mother died when I was quite young. My father lived until I was seventeen. After he died, I inherited the land, and worked it well enough. I fell in love with a girl. Rosemary. I courted her, and in due time, she agreed to be my wife.”
Again, Julen stroked the silver links of chain that circled his throat. “We were happy. Happy the way that only two people in love can be. But everything started to go wrong. Crops failed, equipment broke, animals died for no reason. Soon we couldn’t afford to keep the farm going without additional funds. So I came into Marn to earn extra money. During the day I do whatever odd jobs I can get, and during the night I sing in taverns -- except that sometimes when I sing, I accidentally cast magical illusions. That’s what happened a few hours ago. If it hadn’t been for Aranel, I probably would have been attacked by an angry mob. When you knocked, and I saw your armor, I was scared to death because I thought you were a guard come to drag me off to the Judges.”
Julen sighed, pushing the air from his lungs as if it had suddenly turned too old and thin to breathe. “That’s me. It’s different for you. You were born to thwart villains, slay dragons. Anyone can see it. You’re a hero. But not me. I’m just a farmer from Shim.”
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Sir Karsimir
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"I don't agree with that. And neither did Rosemary."
When saying that, he was conscious of the risk of a well-deserved punch to the face, but it needed to be said.
"I do not mean to speak beyond my place, but it is true. Look as far back as the last five minutes." A moment was given for him to do so. "What I have seen is a man offer himself up to what he thought was death to protect a near-stranger who had aided hm before. I see a man who, when the farm failed, struggled on day after day. Perservering for the sake of his wife. Is it any wonder she chose you over every other farmer in Shim? When you accept hardship out of such loyalty and devotion to her? Please, Julen, if there is one thing I may ask of you, it is don't ever believe yourself less than a brave man."
He waited for this to sink in.
Waited.
Struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice, Railtus went on. "My birth means nothing. If you were born to my parents, then what? Is being raised in priviledge, or being learned in combat, supposed to make me somehow better than you?" The absurdity of the notion was clear on Railtus' face, which snapped back into seriousness with the very next words. "Or just more fortunate?"
Quickly he glanced towards Aranel, glad that she was still sleeping. For a moment he feared that his arguements would wake her up. While he would very much like to speak with her, to see her sleeping so contentedly was something he would not disturb for the world.
Be his next words an admission, a confession, or what, they were said slowly, as though his recognition of the fact came with the speaking of it. "I have never known true fear, or hardship." Such was said with a certainty he would have lacked but a few short moments ago, "My next prayer to Ydren will be that when I do, I will handle it as gracefully as you do."
When saying that, he was conscious of the risk of a well-deserved punch to the face, but it needed to be said.
"I do not mean to speak beyond my place, but it is true. Look as far back as the last five minutes." A moment was given for him to do so. "What I have seen is a man offer himself up to what he thought was death to protect a near-stranger who had aided hm before. I see a man who, when the farm failed, struggled on day after day. Perservering for the sake of his wife. Is it any wonder she chose you over every other farmer in Shim? When you accept hardship out of such loyalty and devotion to her? Please, Julen, if there is one thing I may ask of you, it is don't ever believe yourself less than a brave man."
He waited for this to sink in.
Waited.
Struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice, Railtus went on. "My birth means nothing. If you were born to my parents, then what? Is being raised in priviledge, or being learned in combat, supposed to make me somehow better than you?" The absurdity of the notion was clear on Railtus' face, which snapped back into seriousness with the very next words. "Or just more fortunate?"
Quickly he glanced towards Aranel, glad that she was still sleeping. For a moment he feared that his arguements would wake her up. While he would very much like to speak with her, to see her sleeping so contentedly was something he would not disturb for the world.
Be his next words an admission, a confession, or what, they were said slowly, as though his recognition of the fact came with the speaking of it. "I have never known true fear, or hardship." Such was said with a certainty he would have lacked but a few short moments ago, "My next prayer to Ydren will be that when I do, I will handle it as gracefully as you do."