<font color=thistle>If only you knew how much I want to be with you. All she wanted to see was a kind-hearted burglar; she knew nothing about the taking of lives that were part of the deal with being a brigand. The romance of adventure beckoned to her so sweetly in the face of her dearest friend, and what she would give to grasp at that invitation!

But alas... things could not be, not now. Her cheeks flamed with the deepest shame as she made her confession. "My father lies crippled back Alesbridge because of my folly, Altair." To him, there could be nothing but the truth. "But my people do not know, they must not know... for the city lies in peril should it disintegrate into panic and chaos." Each word parted from her lips painfully, for what must come.

"I cannot leave with you now, although my heart desires it." Don't look into his eyes, Robyn. Another glance and you're lost. Turning away slightly so that he would not see her tears, she continued. "I... I must somehow make safe the city, before I go." Who are you kidding? Unless Father recovers, which is near impossible, you are the one who assumes rulership. You, and your husband, whoever that may be. Just that thought alone could drive her insane.

"Will you wait for me, Altair?" It was like old times, she pleading him for yet another favour. "Are you willing to wait for me? I will come with you when I'm done. That is a promise."

She could say no more, so breathless and tired was she.</font>

<font color=silver><font color=mediumspringgreen>"Just a moment now, Rake."</font> Soft was her command, and the lioness growled in discontent as it crouched against the ground, clawing the earth in anticipation. Why the stalling? Weren't the humans ripe for picking just below? Frustration gleamed in her eyes as she tilted her head sideways to exchange a glance with her mistress.

<font color=mediumspringgreen>"You think I am senile, no doubt."</font> The mistress chuckled, stroking the fur of her pet; a move which served only to irritate the feline who craved for violence rather than caresses. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"I don't blame you, Rake. But I do have my reasons."</font>

What reasons could she have? She was past eighty, and that was assuming she had kept track of her age; nobody had celebrated her birthdays since she was five, and even then, the last birthday had been a nightmare. A nightmare that had led to this day...

<font color=indianred>It was the fourth time she was in the forest, and each time she was there, she had nearly gotten lost because of its vastness. Always, her aunt had asked her to look for the most unusual of herbs and spices, saying that these were free for the picking, unlike the wares to be bought in the market.

Of course, she had obeyed. Uncle and Aunt were poor, with four children of their own. Her entry into their impoverished family could only be a burden. The least she could do was to help out with chores. Chores that none of their own children partook in...

<font color=pink>"Aunt Mag!"</font> Her calls sounded pathetic in the surroundings which were deadly quiet. She was more lost than before, because she had run further into the forest; that was the instruction she had received: <font color=gold>"Surely you will not mind finding me the ginseng root, after today's celebration. It cost a fair bit, you know, Gatha. I can't afford to buy a ginseng now."</font> And so she had searched everywhere, bearing a large sickle, chopping and carving at will. If only she had asked what a ginseng was... half her problems would have been solved!

But there was no reply, and the air was turning chilly, just as the light began to fade. Gatha's muddied feet scampered around the forest, her screams echoing hopelessly around the trees. <font color=pink>"Please, Aunt Mag! Please... don't leave me here! I'm scared!"</font> The trees were rustling and she could hear the sound of paws padding the earth. She was going to be eaten alive by the creatures of the forest, and Aunt Mag... surely Aunt Mag would come!

Aunt Mag did not want her. The more she tried to resist this terrifying thought, the more she became convinced of the case. She had been sent on the previous errands, so that she would not suspect this latest one... Aunt Mag knew that there was probably no ginseng in the forest; she only wanted her to entrench herself into it and never be able to get out... Aunt Mag's simpering smiles during the party had been quite different from her usual scowls and muttered grievances.

Gatha flung herself upon the ground, wailing her guts out and in anticipating of her impending doom. No one loved her, no one cared that her limbs would be torn apart and her bones chewed upon, and no one would even know she was here. Utter despair gripped her fragile frame as she continued to pour her grievances to the forest...</font>

The memory of that fateful day could never be erased, and Gatha stared into space, remembering her indignation when she found out that Aunt Mag and her entire family had been executed years later for some treason. Revenge was out of the question, and she had spent decades guarding the forest that embraced a lonely, helpless child. She knew and spoke to each creature there, and they returned her affections. Now... everything was in disarray, and she... she was dying.

Every blow she had dealt Rehan earlier had taken a significant amount of physical and mental strength. Speaking to Lord Gerald had taken much of her energies as well. Perhaps she was tired... perhaps it was time to live, and let live.

Turning to Rake, she looked fondly into her eyes. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"You can blame me all you want, but I am getting old. These bones are barely holding up."</font> Grinning wryly, she gestured for the lioness to get up. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"Go for them with my blessing, my lovely, but have a care. They are armed."</font>

Yes, she would not fight anymore. She was so weary from the burden she had carried out of love and gratitude for her benefactors. They would be free to act for themselves, but for now... what she wanted was rest.

A good, long rest...</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> A faint smile crept up onto his face as he gently turned her head to face him. He wiped away her tears with his thumb and gave in like he always did when she asked for favors. "I'll wait for you."

Removing his hand from her face, he stood up then and helped her up as well. "I'll get you back to Alesbridge." Pulling a dagger off his belt, he handed it to her as harsh reality crashed down around them.

Altair quickly put out the fire and stood close to her as he gazed out into the darkness. "I know you're tired, but we need to cover some ground before morning. I'd rather go around the forest then through it."

Grasping Robyn's hand, he began to lead the way up the hill when the soft thud of paws could be heard. I thought the beasts were contained to the forest?! Damnit, and I just put out the fire too... Tensing, he stayed close to Robyn as his eyes darted through the night. He couldn't see where the beast was coming from and had no intention of waiting here for it to eat them.</font>

<font color=thistle>She held her blade nervously, though the feel of his fingers reassured her against the darkness that befell them. <font color=cyan>"I'm with you."</font>

As she felt the tension coursing from his body and through their hand clasps, however, alertness replaced fear. Altair must not worry about her; she would be no burden...

And then, the moment came. Out of nowhere, a shadow leapt towards them. <font color=cyan>"Roll!"</font> Showing by example, she rolled to the left and sprung to her feet, watching for Altair in dismay. Where was he? Would he be safe? She could not fling her dagger, for fear of wounding him instead. And the wily creature had had the sense to remain silent, apart from its breathing, making it harder to detect its exact location.

Cursing, she could only hope that Altair had escaped this first attack and was regrouping at his end.</font>

[ 07-30-2006, 03:09 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=darkkhaki> Picking himself off the ground, Altair tried to remain calm as he looked for Robyn. Clouds covered the moon, leaving very little visibility. Images of the beast tearing the young apart motivated him to find her as fast as possible.

Luck decided to not be on Altair's side that night. Growling, the beast leapt onto the young man, knocking him down and wrestling down the hill with him. Disoriented, all the thief managed to do was kick the beast off of him, which angered it even more.


Altair barely managed to pull his dagger out before the lioness lunged at him again. Claws ripped at his shoulders as he was knocked over backwards. He could do very little to prevent the beasts clawing, enduring it until the pace slowed down little by little until it stopped breathing. Using all of his strength to push the beast off of him, the body rolled over revealing his dagger stuck in the animal's chest.

Staggering upward, he removed his weapon from the lioness and wondered how he managed to live through that. His torn shoulders said otherwise as the warm blood soaked trails down his shirt. Lady luck rolled snake eyes tonight, and he doubted it would ever happen again.</font>

<font color=thistle>At the growl of the beast, she spun around to catch its shadow now leaping onto another figure - Altair! - and before she could run towards them, man and beast were embroiled in a bitter fight, rolling down the hill for good measure.

Carefully, she lowered herself down the hill so that she would not slip and become a crutch rather than a helping hand. May the gods protect Altair. As soon as she had reached ground level, she charged up and flung her dagger at the clawing creature. The dagger lodged itself onto the lioness' forearm but bloodlust was in her eyes as she concentrated on her first kill. In despair, Robyn looked around for stones and rocks with which she could pelt at and distract their attacker...

Before she could even do so, however, it appeared that the fight was over. With an astonished growl, the lioness fell over from Altair's push and Robyn rushed to his side, gasping as she saw his torn shoulders. The remaining two cure light wounds spells she had fortunately stopped the bleeding, but he was certainly in a bad shape.

Too weak and injured to be moved.

Not knowing whether to be glad or dismayed by the delay, she knelt beside him, stroking his right cheek with her left hand. It seemed as if tears would insult the occasion, so she kept them at bay and smiled faintly.

"Let that teach you never to leave me so unexpectedly and mercilessly again." And she traced his lips with her fingers, pressing them so that he would not have to speak. Looking at his injuries again, she tore the hem of her trousers off and bandaged his shoulders securely. "Let's pray for good weather for the rest of the night."

Almost as if the gods were conspiring against the pair, however, a streak of lightning flashed against the opaque canvass above them, followed by a loud thunderclap. Hurriedly, she stooped down and flung Altair's arms across her shoulders and huffed as she made her way towards some form of shelter, trying to ignore the sheer weight of her burden.

Down came the downpour, drenching them completely to the skin, and she gasped as the rain continued to pelt itself from all directions, especially into her eyes. There was no way of telling where they were going, and she could only hope that it was to safety they were headed.

As she staggered onward with her load, she could not help laughing to herself wryly. How true it was... that it never rained but poured.</font>

[ 07-30-2006, 08:36 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=lightgrey>He closed his eyes, feeling the tears trickling their way down his neck and soaking his shirt gleefully. Even these tears, it appeared, were out to sting him. At this moment, he could no longer distinguish whether it was his physical wounds or the emotional blow he had just been dealt with, that hurt more. Soon... soon...

The words he had just heard, bore their mark upon his soul, razing it irreversibly and gagging him. How could anyone, least of all her, have uttered such words to him, without the blink of an eye?

<font color=skyblue>"You are better off being dead, Gerald."</font> These were what Yasmine, his beloved wife and mother of his precious daughter, had said to him. Neither tears nor compassion accompanied the stiff words she pronounced, she who was bedecked with the family jewels, her hair in an impeccable coiffure and whose glittering gown blinded him as she approached him, her eyes glowing in a light he had never perceived in all their years of courtship and marriage. <font color=skyblue>"The very sight of you now pollutes my perfection, and you cannot blame me for choosing what is best for myself."</font> No mention of himself, or their daughter. When had she turned into this stranger? This heartless, superficial monster?

The memory of that moment continued to gnaw at him now, long after she had sailed away with the completion of her short speech. She had exited without casting another glance at him; he must really be a horrific, degrading sight. His mouth parted but it seemed that no outburst could release the torment that chewed him from the inside.

Yasmine... Yasmine... What had gone wrong, he wanted to know. As he reopened his eyes, tears brimmed in them again and a single heartwrenched cry emitted from his parched lips. What did I do to deserve this?! His arms, bandaged to immobility, could not even express his indignation at the gods above. I have done everything I could to love and protect my family! Grief and fury filled his lungs so furiously that he choked in his breath. Why me? Why do you do this to me?!

Memories of happier times only stabbed his heart now. First Robyn... then Yasmine... who would be next, he wondered? Would there be a next?

Exhausted. Yes, terribly weary of this fight. A scarred cripple whose daughter had not visited him since last night; he had believed her tears, held back his own as she said her piece and fell asleep upon his breast. A grotesque invalid whose wife detested the sight - no, continued existence - of him. And out there, out in the streets where his subjects were, they were jeering at him, at his incompetence. Above, his ancestors were coughing with disapproval, disappointment in his failure to be an able ruler, a wise father and now, his choice of life partner.

Where was hope, at a moment like this? A city in disarray, his traitorous wife making her own plans to usurp rulership of Alesbridge, Robyn's whereabouts unknown, and anytime, anytime she could summon her beasts to attack the city. Everything spelt his downfall. Could he bear it? Could he?

Gerald had performed many deeds in the past, and he hoped fervently that the good ones outnumbered the bad ones. They had to, had to!! He could not bear it otherwise. Tossing and turning, he writhed in agony at the thought of an ignominious end. Never mind that somewhere, his nerves registered pain... he was immune to physical discomfort now. It was the psychological battle that he was fighting, and he was at the losing end.

Soon... soon... Sighing, he turned and noticed the vial which winked invitingly at him for the first time. Ah, you think of everything, Yasmine. For who else could have brought him this poison? Not Edward, whom he knew would have been sent packing. Not any of the help, for they respected him enough not to venture a deed so evil while he was still alive.

You hate me so much, Yasmine. I wonder why. Shakily, his fingers reached for the container, grasped it and brought it forward. How was it that so lethal a potion could be packaged so enticingly? I owe you and Robyn nothing. His other trembling hand unstoppered the vial. You, on the other hand, owe me everything...

The moment had come to end this living hell. He closed his eyes, pouring the deceptively sweet fluid down his throat.

Forgive Papa, Robyn. His innards were warm... warmer... and suddenly ablaze. Gritting his teeth, he could barely suppress his screams, wondering all the time why he was bothering to do so. Perhaps even at this last moment, pride was of importance to him - he must die heroically, not as a babe who wails for help.

Perspiration poured over his head as he doubled over in agony, until...

... just as Papa forgives you...

The darkness comforted him, and he knew no more.</font>

[ 07-30-2006, 07:50 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=limegreen>The day had passed uneventfully. As Rehan had said he went into the library, but Esaha did not share the same need for information. What she wanted to do above all was to meet the people, for that was one thing she hadn't been able to do for the last decade.

She just walked in the streets of Alesbridge, watching people going on their daily business, a young couple kissing next to a fountain, an old woman carrying a sack of grain to the small market, a pack of boys playing soldiers and bandits with wooden swords and shields.

The day passed rapidly, and by the end of it Esaha had quite a good mental picture of the streets of the town, having walked most of them several times during the day. The sun had already set behind the horizon when Esaha returned to the Mehlingard manor. As she passed the library, she glanced inside, but Rehan was no longer there.

Feeling tiredness slowly taking over, Esaha went back to her room. But she did not immediately lie down to rest. She was drawn, almost against her will to the window, from where she could just make out the dark outline of the forest in the distance. Stormclouds were gathering on the distant horizon, and the storm would most probably hit within the hour.

The forest seemed to be dark and brooding in this light, but fond memories still tied Esaha to it. Her father lay in piece there, and she would always remember the forest, not only as a place of horrors unleashed by the old lady, but the place where she had lived with her father.

She was just about to turn back to lie down, when she spotted a shadow fleeting across the grassland seperating the forest from the town. Esaha strained her eyes, but couldn't spot the figure again. I must have been imagining something. I'm just tired. But just then a bolt of lightning struck a lonely tree inside the forest, and in the sudden light Esaha gaped in horror.

Dozens of creatures were swarming towards the town from the forest. That could only mean one thing. Esaha ran from her room, looking for someone to warn. The corridor was deserted so she turned left and ran down it. Finding the first open door she came across, she rushed in, and then stopped dead in her tracks. A middle-aged man was lying on the floor, his body badly wounded, but from the bandages and salves on it, taken care of. A small bottle was clutched in his hand.

Once Esaha's father had been visited by a well known potionmaker, and it was from that visit that Esaha had forever remembered the smell she felt here. She pried the bottle from the man's hand and sniffed carefully at it. Poison! - her senses literally screamed at her.

She hastily knelt down next to the figure, and turned him over. As she spotted the ring on his finger, realisation hit her. The tree with the tower next to it was the same symbol she had seen all over the mansion. Could this be Robyn's father?

Esaha almost cried out in frustration not knowing how she could stop the poison and had to watch this once great man die. She cursed herself for not learning more from her father and fell to her knees.

It was just as she was about to give up hope, that something strange happened. An unearthly white glow appeared at her fingertips. Esaha did not have the time to be surprised. Before she even knew it, her hands were firmly pressed against Lord Gerald's chest and she uttered words in a language she did not know she knew. Her hands were now glowing with the white light.

As she finished speaking, Lord Gerald opened his eyes, wondering whether he was dead now, and the beautiful young lady in front of him was here to welcome him in the afterlife. Esaha continued speaking in the strange language, channeling her own energy into Lord Gerald, healing even the injuries he had sustained in his previous trek to the forest.

Once she was done, she tried standing up, but found she did not have any more energy left. Unconsciousness almost overtook her, but she had to tell him.

"The creatures...forest...attack...town...hurry" As she uttered the last word, darkness descended on Esaha, and she fell unconscious.</font>

<font color=lightgrey>He could not even begin to express his astonishment at his own transformation, so great was it. Flexing his arms, he stifled a whoop as he found that they now moved with their former agility; hoping against hope, he looked down... and tears filled his eyes as he found that his lower limbs had been restored, by a miracle.

A miracle performed by the lovely goddess before him. Kneeling before her - and further rejoicing that no physical pain impeded his movements and the poison had been completely purged from his body - he was about to express his earnest gratitude when he noticed her swaying upon her feet.

Swiftly, he reached out just in time to catch her falling body and her last words:

<font color=limegreen>"The creatures... forest... attack... town... hurry"</font>

The forest? Attack? His mind cleared and he hurriedly lowered her onto the bed he had occupied these two nights. She would be safe here from all harm.

Alesbridge was in danger! Dashing out, he hollered his orders to his stupefied men, and in frustrated impatience, he struck one on the helmet.

<font color=gold>"Stop gawking! I am back, and Alesbridge is facing an attack from the forest! To arms, men, to arms!"</font>

Down he sprinted with the rest of them, momentarily sighing as he heard the bugles echo out into the street. This was another day to be remembered... would Alesbridge survive the onslaught? And his eyes shone with a brilliance that contrasted starkly against the gloom that had filled them just moments ago.

<font color=gold>"To arms! To arms!"</font> And the guards echoed his war-cry, their morale boosted and their weapons drawn in readiness as they charged into the streets, keeping the citizens behind their closed doors and preparing for the battle ahead...</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> Squinting against the rain, Altair could make out an overhang on the other side of the hill. "Stop." He said quietly as if the energy to talk was painful to use. Trying his best not to put too much weight on her, he slid off Robyn and gingery wrapped his left arm around her shoulder so he could stumble along with her.

The storm continued to tear at them, leaving the pair shivering as they made it under the overhang. Altair lowered himself down against the rock wall with Robyn's help. He was thankful to be out of the storm, but the wind howled savagely, causing their soaked clothes and skin to grow cold.

Shivering, he motioned for her to sit next to him, welcoming their combined body heat. There wasn't enough wood to make a fire, and Altair contemplated on if they would die here. He refused the thought as quickly as it entered his mind. They would make it through this together. It was his fault Robyn was even out here to begin with, and Altair knew he had to correct the situation.

Grasping her hands, he gently rubbed his own against hers, generating a small amount of heat for her cold fingers. The rain struck the ground over and over in a mesmerizing rhythm. Altair watched the droplets shatter on contact with the ground, soaking the earth with its own vengeance.</font>

<font color=cadetblue> Rehan rushed outside of the manor, outfitted in armor and sword he gathered from the armory. The clouds were an ominous gray, adding a sense of dread to the tense battle scene. Soldiers waited inside the city gates, watching the army of beasts come closer and closer.

Large-scale battle was not something Rehan was used to, and the fact the enemies were wild beasts left the young man feeling apprehensive. Making his way to the small walkway, he climbed up to the top of the city gates and waited, for there was nothing to do but wait. He couldn't deny though, the excitement of something such as this started to raise his spirits, and he began to welcome the fight with open arms. Alesbrige would win this battle, or he would die trying.</font>

[ 07-30-2006, 10:13 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=lightblue>The last time someone had rapped him on the head like Lord Gerald had just done had been close to fifteen years ago, when at the age of seven, he had gotten himself into trouble by taking a juicy apple from a market stall. His father had given him a well-deserved beating for that, but those times were long gone. Just before his twentieth birthday Sean had joined the Alesbridge town guard.

He had been almost asleep on duty, when he had heard Lord Gerald's cries through the halls. The rap on the head had brought him to a fully wakened state, as did the news the Lord gave. Sean had recently heard rumours that the Lord had been badly wounded, but his fully healthy appearance would surely dispell those rumours, and silence those who spread them.

Glancing towards the horizon, Sean wondered whether it would be the animals or the storm, which reached Alesbridge first. Despite having been a guard for two years, the only action Sean had ever seen was in the training room, either against the straw dummies or practicing with wooden swords. But the blade he held in his hand now glistened in the light of many torches, their light thrown off the sharp steel.

Fear was a natural thing for one so young as Sean, and he had plenty of it. But he knew that once the battle was joined, his fear would evaporate and be replaced by a certain frenzy, which would only end once the battle was over or if he perished. Having just recently been engaged to the baker's daughter, Sean preferred to not contemplate the second possibility. He had almost as much to lose here as the Lord himself. At least that was the way he thought about it.

Sean positioned himself close to the hero, Rehan, whose fame had preceded his arrival. He guessed that if there was a safe place on the battlefield, it would be next to the one who was reknowned for his fighting abilities. Sean dreamt one day of being a warrior of Rehan's fame, but for the moment, he had to content himself of shooting admiring glances in the young hero's direction, waiting for the inevitable battle to commence.</font>

[ 07-30-2006, 06:39 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=cadetblue> Reality hit Rehan when he noticed the occasional glances from another guard. Admiration was in his eyes, and it hit Rehan with such a force that he had to shake his head several times. People were depending on him, counting on him to meet his reputation as a hero. This battle isn't something I should take lightly... His gloved hand tightened around his sword in anticipation.

How many people would die tonight? How many lives would be snuffed out to protect their home and loved ones? What exactly was he fighting for? Fighting to protect the innocents? Fighting simply to keep himself alive? Rehan decided it would be for Alesbridge. The city gave him food, shelter, and supplies when he needed it, and it was his turn to repay the favor. Determination took control of him as he shouted for the archers to set up along the wall. The bowmen couldn't kill all of them, but the rain of arrows would slow them down and weaken their numbers.

Several men stared at him, wondering who this young man was to command them in such a way. Sighing, Rehan removed his helmet and started shouting orders again. Realizing who he was, the archers quickly placed themselves along the wall, waiting for the call to fire.</font>

<font color=thistle>Despite the fact that her teeth were chattering and her body trembling uncontrollably from the coldness, she drew warmth from her long-lost friend's companionship. The feel of his fingers was comforting, and she marvelled silently at how their reunion had come about. Then, to break the silence, she gave a wry chuckle. "Just like old times, huh?”

Except that life was much more complicated now. In the old times, they would be spurring each other on, trying to find the best line to continue their stories. In the old times, they would be swinging wooden swords at each other, laughing when these collided. In the old times, they would be hauling each other out of the garden pool and scrambling up the servants’ staircase, rushing to find fresh clothes to change into, before they were caught for their undignified antics.

They could still do all that, she supposed wistfully. But they had grown up, especially over the last eight years. What had happened in his share of the years, she wondered, subconsciously turning her head to study his profile. Was now the right time to trade their stories? There did not seem much else to do, anyway.

“My dear Altair…” the words tripped off her tongue comfortably enough, but the sentence halted as a thought occurred to her and she blushed, before hastily continuing. “You’re tired, so you should rest.” His stories would have to wait. She could not push him like that, knowing how he must be suppressing his pain. “I, on the other hand, have plenty of energy.” The second chuckle came out more like an ironic grunt. “I’ll entertain you, for once. In repayment for those tales you humoured me with..."

And so, she began. She spoke quietly, sometimes so softly that she did not know if he had heard what she was saying. She did not look at him as she relayed her story; somehow, she could not bear to. It was as if she would lose her ability and courage to talk if she faced him, and she could not understand why. Was he not her dearest friend? It had been so easy back then, to do so. What had changed? Why did it feel so strange now, their proximity?

Hurriedly, she went on. How the years had crawled by, at first. The first couple of them especially tedious, when she had lost this best friend. How she would closet herself to her room, sulking and refusing her meals, refusing to listen to reason about family obligations and the upholding of family honour and wealth. Then, she had undergone an aggressive phase. Haunted by the image of him riding through the woods and enjoying the hunting seasons with his other companions, she had dedicated her pursuits to archery and horseriding. She avoided the forest behind Alesbridge, of course; there were enough hunting grounds in the other lords’ lands as she began to be handed around like a prize trophy for display. What saved her, unexpectedly, was her exuberance and energy; if she herself could not fully harness it, what hope had the beaux to whom she was being recommended of doing so? One by one, they admired her looks, wit and skill, only to be retreat, threatened by these very qualities. It signified nothing; she cared too little for them to feel anything. All through the years, she had hoped and prayed for Altair’s news; that was better than not knowing if he was even alive. But no news came, and she began to lose heart. She had thought that he reciprocated her trust and concern, so it was a rude awakening to know that he had disappeared without a word, not even to herself. Then, her father had sought Rehan’s help in annihilating the source of the forest’s evils. Was she not capable enough for the task? Had she not proven her abilities through those painful eight years? She had taken off for the forest, out of spite and determination to show her father once and for all that she was not a Mehlingard for nothing. Now, she had only a heart of guilt and pain to show for her catastrophic blunder. Meeting Altair at a time like this, she could not help wondering what sign it was that the gods were trying to show to her...

Throughout her soliloquy, she was acutely aware of the lessening chill and lightening of her burden. Yet in the ensuing pause, she began to doubt the wisdom of telling him her story so readily. Sitting there, her back leaning against his, she had never felt so vulnerable in all her life.</font>

<font color=silver>In the tens of thousands of days that had passed, she had always stopped to greet old friends, make new ones and where necessary, play adjudicator to the inevitable petty quarrels that occurred even among the best of friends. These rituals imbibed her with a sense of purpose.

Tonight, Gatha was taking yet another stroll. But the sense of purpose was drifting; it flowed from her brain down the curve of her spine, flushed down her bowels, gliding down her feet and finally, into the soil.

The soil which she had hugged on her first night in the forest.

Will I go to heaven or hell for the deeds I have done? This was a question that had cropped up of late, and only because she no longer had the strength to parry it into oblivion. Those deeds may have been unorthodox by some's standards... She could see the self-righteous expressions of the soldiers and warriors when they had passed judgement on her... before they had been mangled to death. ... but there was no one to guide me, except by treacherous examples. Yes, the code which she lived by, she had had to invent by herself.

These justifications had always been acceptable, but tonight she was having her misgivings. True, no one taught me good principles, but when others showed the alternative ways of life... I did not pay heed to them. At first, it had been a matter of survival, to creep into the city to steal fabric and some necessities for she had had no coin to spend. Then, she had had to silence the unfortunate children who had caught her in the act. She knew that she had graduated when she managed to slice the throat of the unsuspecting adult who had bent down to harass her. From then on, her hatred of the city people had been cemented, and she could watch the merchants, soldiers, guards and mercenaries being slain before her eyes, without a tinge of pity. Had they all left her alone, let her take what little from society that she wanted in exchange for her miserable childhood, the murders would have been spared. That was what she had told herself, all these years.

But tonight, she was no longer sure of herself.

As if the gods were telling her that it was all too late, they wept for her sins and for the souls that had prematurely left their bodies because of her.

It started out in droplets, then a drizzle, and suddenly it was an outpour. Lightning hurled streaks across the dark skies, while thunder berated her for her faults and misdeeds. With neither backing down, the surroundings echoed with deafening retorts and patches of brilliant white flashed across the landscape. The wind jumped into the conflict, sighing first, then fanning the exchange with its bellows.

Have I really been wrong? No longer could she confidently say that she could face the truth. And it was terrifying, realising that all her beliefs might have been misplaced. In a daze, she stumbled on, acutely aware that she was almost floating in the air.

<font color=mediumspringgreen>"Aco."</font> She sighed in relief as she recognised the offspring of a friend. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"Won't you say hello to this old lady here?"</font> She listened against its trunk and smiled dreamily. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"What a sweet talker you are, Aco! No wonder you're a favourite around here."</font> She reached out to stroke the bark. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"You'll remember me when I'm gone, won't you?"</font> And shook her head when she heard its groan. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"You can postpone death, my friend. But you can never deny it."</font> Chuckling softly, she stooped down and patted its root. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"Good, you stand firm and upright. A solid example for your descendants, you'll be."</font>

Arising, she hummed to herself and prepared to continue on her journey.

In stooping down, she had not heard Aco whimpering as the first shaft of blinding light created a fissure between its weakened branch and trunk. In admiring Aco's roots, she had not heard its muffled shout as the second shaft dug deep into the crevice. In standing up and moving off, she had not time to run to safety as Aco's lost limb came crashing down.

On this night, the gods had decided that it was time for Gatha to know the truth about her actions.</font>

[ 07-31-2006, 09:37 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=powderblue>He could see that the storm had advanced from the backs of the forest and was now pelting heavily upon that treacherous terrain at last. Would that it beats some sense into that vile monstrosity. His last encounter with the she-devil was still fresh in his memory as he held his two-handed sword firmly, glancing around to see the formation of the troops.

It was a comforting sight, to see that the able-bodied men had turned up in full force. What a pity that Robyn were not here, she had always craved to be in the midst of battle. Or perhaps, after that night's escapade, she would be a different person... How differently he felt now that he had rejuvenated and recovered! Her disappearance was no longer an abandonment; it was an answered prayer, as long as she was safe.

Then, it came; the forerunner's cry. The beasts had come, and the courage of man was being tested on this stormy night.

<font color=gold>"The fate of Alesbridge lies in our hands, my friends!"</font> Stentorian was his voice. <font color=gold>"Strike when you can, but be alert!"</font> That was all he would say. Words counted for little when it came to battle.

Drawing in a deep breath, he began to step forward slowly, but steadily, his eyes fixed upon the advancing beasts...</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> Guilt washed over Altair as he listened to her reactions of his disappearance. Despite all of it, she had grown up to be strong and followed the path that would improve her. He wanted to put an arm around her, to comfort her, but his wounded shoulders prevented it. His hands were still clasped around hers as he lifted them up to his mouth. Breathing as steady as he could, his warm breath caressed her fingers and warmed her up even more.

Lowering his hands, his gaze took her in and he wondered if he could tell her his story. She had always loved his stories, but this tale was full of death and injustice. Would her opinion change of him? Would she shun him? He wanted to be truthful with her. The truth... Such a fragile thing easily broken. Altair was well acquainted with lying now, but he wouldn't do that to Robyn, he couldn't. She had been open and honest with him, and she deserved nothing less.

Like old times, she sat next to him eagerly listening to what it was he would tell her. The memory was somewhat painful. She would always laugh and smile as he reenacted some parts of a tale, and finish with a grand ending. This would be quite a different story.

He began with running away from his home and living on the streets with no home or food. How he would have to steal things to keep himself alive. Then his run in with Berad, and how he tried so hard to become the thief's apprentice. Freedom and adventure enticed a young boy who so desperately rejected confinement. Berad's death was swiftly brought up and forgotten, for he did not want to linger on the memory. The crimes he committed, deaths he brought, everything, slowly poured out of him. He was not the mischievous young boy she remembered, he had grown, and with that changed into a man that could easily lie, murder, and steal. His story turned into more of a confession by the time he finished.

Altair couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see what she thought of him inside those green eyes. This was the first time he had ever second-guessed his course of actions. He had honestly never expected to see her again. Not that he didn't want to see her, but he knew she was better off safe at home, married off to someone who could give her the comforts of what she grew up with. He was unsure of it now, knowing how much it had affected her when he left.

His gaze watched the rain crash against the earth, wondering if it was attempting to cleanse him of his past misdeeds.</font>

[ 07-31-2006, 01:40 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

ooc: Posting for Mistral since she's unable to get on IW at the moment. This is only so dplax doesn't think I'm talking to myself. [img]tongue.gif[/img]

<font color=thistle>She had guessed by the look in his eyes and his earlier apology that this was no fairytale that had a perfect ending. She had braced herself for a tale of hardship in which Altair might have suffered a good many beatings under more experienced adventurers and risked his life in foolish dreams of treasure-finding. That much she had prepared herself for, comforting herself that Altair was the manlier for all these trials and lessons he had had to learn.

When his story took a twisted turn such as he had described, however, she found herself fighting a tidal wave of distress. This was the Altair she was facing now… a murderer, a brigand and a liar! She could not deny it, even if she had wanted to – it had come straight from his mouth.

Eyes glistening with sorrow, she gazed upon his averted face. Can I bring myself to forgive him for his sins? But this thought alone punched her stomach so that she doubled over, breathless. How can I not forgive him? He could have easily fooled her, given his skills at deception. Yet he had chosen to reveal the unvarnished truth about himself, just as he had. That alone should be sufficient to satisfy her. What more the fact that he was now all alone, away from family, Berad whom he had cared for dearly and who was gone. How many trusted friends had he? How many times had he shared his grim experiences?

Courage, Robyn. She had never lacked this; it must support her now just as she must rally around her friend.

Friend. She had had plenty of friends… or had they been acquaintances, ghosts who flitted in and out of her life? They had not touched her heart the way Altair had, and certainly they had never played a part in her dreams and nightmares. Altair. Just pronouncing his name split open the unseen wound in her heart, and it bled profusely. For whom did it bleed for?

Looking at him, she began to understand that it was for the both of them.

Not trusting herself to speak, she crept closer to him and rested her left hand upon his back. A long pause ensued. Then, she addressed him, her voice trembling. “Your stories have taken a dark turn, Altair.” She withdrew her hand, seeking warmth in clasping her fingers together. “In forgetting them, I would be in self-denial as to your exploits.” Her hands were suddenly fascinating, so hard did she stare at them. “In denouncing them, I would be assuming a higher moral ground – which I am hardly entitled to, with my own faults.” Raising her head at length, she went on. “I have to accept your past, Altair, just as you have to accept mine.”

Why was acceptance so painful? “I cannot undo the deeds for which we hang our heads in shame, Altair. But I know that we have a choice.” She was gaining strength in the tone of her voice, where there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. “We can decide how we want to live our lives, from now on.” Impulsively, she grabbed his hand and knelt before him so that they were facing each other.

“Shall we strive for happiness, Altair? I don’t think we have reached the point of no return.” Her heart was pounding from the exertion, and she gripped his fingers. “Please help me to believe in ourselves.” Inwardly, she thanked the gods that she did not have so many people whom she cared for so deeply. This current experience was half-killing her.</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> You're so strong Robyn... Altair was in disbelief that she was willing to accept his corrupted past. She was willing to move on with him, and the act hit him forcefully with how much he meant to her even after all these years.

"I don't know what's left in a broken thief, but I'll try my best for you." His hand trailed down her wet face, wiping away stray droplets of water. She had become even more beautiful during the years, and despite seeing her soaked and chilled to the bone, Altair still felt the same.

His fingers continued down her face until resting against her lips. He considered kissing her, and thought back to the days when she used to visit him as a child. Robyn had always stolen a few kisses from him, but it was playful and they were young. The thought of it now would hold an entirely different meaning, and he was unsure of how she would take it.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly pushed himself away from the rocky wall and closed the gap between them. He hesitated at first, but then leaned in and lightly kissed her, his lips ghosting over hers.

The kiss barely connected, and it was brief, but the emotions behind it were on a much larger-scale. Seconds later he breathed in sharply, the pain in his shoulders flaring, causing him to lean back against the wall.

Altair tried to look at her apologetically but only managed a small grimace at the pain.</font>

[ 08-01-2006, 12:10 AM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=thistle>As a child, she had found it terribly funny to watch Altair’s cheeks burning with uncertainty whenever she ran up to him, pecked his cheeks with her lips and darted off before he could protest. Those incidents had always ended up with him catching up with her, dragging her to the pool and shoving her into the water; and in retaliation, she would tug him down and both of them would be drenched and still trading playful jeers and retorts. As a child, she had delighted in poking Altair’s hips where he was most vulnerable and burst into raucous laughter as he jumped and doubled over, trying to defend himself. Those episodes had always ended up with him grabbing her by the arms, spinning her around until they were both giddy and collapsing upon the ground, each blaming the other for their condition.

For as long as she could remember, it was always she – Robyn of Mehlingard – who had initiated their playtime activities that required the most exertion.

Tonight was different.

It was different because they were no longer children. But more importantly, it was not Robyn of Mehlingard who was provoking her good-natured friend.

Tonight, it seemed that Altair had had enough of being the passive one. She could hardly believe her eyes when he extended his hand to her and took her on a breath-taking sprint. Within the span of a few seconds, they had crossed the boundaries of friendship.

Any feelings that had lain dormant were now fully awakened with the close of the run. Even as the prize was being withdrawn from their hands, the air tingled with a drowsy sweetness that she had not known could exist in reality. By the time she reopened them, her eyes were those of a different woman.

True to the nature of such shortlived moments of ecstacy, this one collapsed with a resurgence of Altair’s discomfort. The words were out of her mouth, before she could frame them contextually.

“You should rest.”

Then, realising that he might mistake instinctive concern for a cold brush-off, she sighed and the redness completely left her cheeks then. How ironic it was, that Robyn of Mehlingard was at a loss for words and actions on this special day! Helplessly, she focused her attention on his injury rather than his countenance, unable to face the latter at the moment.

After a moment’s pause, she knew that it was up to her to break the ice, having brought about the somewhat awkward silence. How could she show her intentions without being too forward? Coughing slightly, she tried a buddy-like approach. “I hope you realise what you’re getting into, Altair Swizec.” The attempt completely backfired when the blood gushed to the apples of her cheeks, instead.</font>

[ 08-01-2006, 07:40 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=violet>Stunned, she could only lean against the wall for support as she tried to absorb what she had just heard.

<font color=beige>"Tis true, my Lady. His Lordship just charged down the corridor not a few minutes ago, and he was in the pink of health."</font> The parlour-maid darted a nervous glance at her mistress. <font color=beige>"Is something the matter, ma'am?"</font>

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. How could it be that Gerald had been fully restored? She had witnessed his pathetic state less than half an hour ago, and all the servants were prattling about the same thing: their Lord was up and running about, about to enter a battle! It was infuriating to know how she had played the situation badly, and nerve-wrecking to consider how it could be salvaged.

Gerald... I must get hold of Gerald... Barely noticing the stupefied look on the parlour maid's eyes, she lifted her skirt slightly and scrambled down the staircase.

Reaching the doorway, she ignored the expostulations of the doormen and guards, pushing them aside imperiously. I must know right now... before the start of this battle of goodness-knows-what. Her heart was screaming frenziedly at her miscalculations as she thrust aside who seemed to be a greenhorn and the hero that had arrived at Gerald's invitation a couple of nights before.

Has he changed his will? Are his possessions still coming to me when he dies? For if this battle proved to be fatal, there was no hope of reversing the beneficiaries if he had just amended them...

A firm hand halted her steps and she turned, expectantly. But it was only a protective knight, and she had no use of him. Angrily, she shoved his hand away and craned her neck further, searching for her beloved husband. Where could he be, this person who meant most to her? Perhaps he was playing their usual game of hide-and-seek.

By now, she had gone far ahead to discover that the space around her was quite empty, save for a few gallant warriors who were prepared to lay their lives for Alesbridge. Spinning around, she thought spotted someone familiar... yes, it was the right build and height, and the Mehlingard sword and armour!

<font color=powderblue>"Gerald!"</font> Her face reflected a mixture of contrition, relief and enticement as she approached him slowly, observing the expression in his eyes and mouth. What she saw filled her with dread, a term that had never been associated with her dealings with him.

<font color=powderblue>"I know that you'll find it hard to forgive my rational words just now, but..."</font>

<font color=chartreuse>"Silence, woman!"</font> The revulsion in those eyes, and the loathing in his voice stopped her in her tracks. <font color=chartreuse>"This is hardly the right occasion to speak of private matters, and besides..."</font> His tone grew icier by the second. <font color=chartreuse>"I have nothing to say to you."</font>

<font color=powderblue>"You don't mean that, Gerald."</font> The tears which squeezed out of her eyes were those of panic. <font color=powderblue>"You can't, not after what we've been through, all these years."</font> She risked a step forward, and stopped again at his livid expression. <font color=powderblue>"I would have expected you to say the same things to me, had I been in your condition."</font> To her left, there was a chorus of cries which irritated her. <font color=powderblue>"This was an arranged marriage, Gerald. Made by logical, sensible adults."</font> The shouts were getting louder and she sensed shadows somewhere in the movement. <font color=powderblue>"I would not have wanted to live on, being a burden to you. You deserve better..."</font>

Gerald, her darling Gerald, was at last responding! The earnestness in his eyes filled her with some confidence and she opened her mouth, but before she knew it, he had sped right past her, a war-cry in his mouth and his blade singing in the air. Reality finally sunk in and she turned around to see groups of men slashing at spotted large cats and looming bears, and she staggered backward, her heart in her mouth.

False move again, Yasmine! Or rather, ill-timing. Why did the battle have to start so soon? How was she going to make it to safety in time? No time to berate all this... get going, girl!

Weaving in and out of the chaos, she tried to ignore the screams of agony and terror, the flying limbs and the sailing weapons that crossed her path. Looking around, each step she was about to take was laden with danger.</font>

[ 08-01-2006, 10:49 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=cadetblue> Rain pelted the men as the flurry of metal and claws raged on. Blinking against the barrage of water, Rehan charged forward at a panther mauling a young soldier. Swinging his sword hard, the blade whistled and lodged itself into the animal's neck. He knew the man was dead as he gripped the hilt of his sword and pulled it out of the beast. Bloody water dripped off his sword as he ran deeper into the fray, not bothering to clean the weapon.

Don't think about it, Rehan. Ignore it; keep swinging that sword if you want to live. The carnage was enough to make a seasoned warrior sick. Wounded men cried out in agony at the limbs they were missing, or deep claw marks ripping through their skin. Equally though, the army of beasts had their own casualties, saturating the ground with their own blood.

Lifting up his shield, Rehan barely managed to keep himself from being clawed to death by a cheetah. The force of the leap knocked him hard on his back, leaving him trapped under the animal as it clawed savagely at his shield. He blindly swung his sword at it, unable to get a clear view or be in a good position to wound the enemy.

An arrow whistled by, puncturing the cheetah's side. Growling in pain, the beast looked up in the direction the arrow had came from, and that was the distraction Rehan needed. Pressing all of his strength into his left shoulder, he heaved the animal off him and rolled on top, plunging his sword into its surprised face.

Staggering upward, he took heart at the sight of Lord Gerald fighting. The man truly knew how to hold his own in a battle, and Rehan was thankful it was on his side that Gerald was fighting on.

After a while it was uncertain who would win this battle. Each side suffered many casualties. As if unaware of the battle raging beneath it, the rain continued its harsh decent, creating a mixture of blood and mud for the battlefield.</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> Altair gave her hand a small squeeze that he did indeed know what he was getting into. His concerns though remained unvoiced. Could he so easily change who he was for her? Could he completely turn his back on his life of crime? Maybe he could retain some parts, and opt for the life of an adventurer. Searching for the world's hidden treasures and secrets with Robyn held a great appeal to him.

"Shh! We can't let the guards see us. Father said we're not allowed down into the crypt." Altair held onto Robyn's hand as they sneaked past the men and down to an old staircase. "I'll light a candle once we get down there. We can't let them see the light." The pair stumbled their way down the stairs in the dark until reaching the bottom.

The air felt stale and the silence that greeted them was eerie. Lighting the candle Altair brought with him, he held it up to illuminate the small area around them. Rows of stoned sarcophagus could be seen, holding within them the remains of past members of the Swizec family.

He stopped at each sarcophagus to hold the candle near the nameplate.

Jeremiah Swizec - 905 to 950 - He was a dear brother and valiant fighter. May his soul find peace

Alatir shook his head slowly. "This was my uncle. He used to teach me archery." Robyn continued to look at him questionably, and he felt compelled to say more. "You met him once, during the spring ball my mother always insists we host for the other families." Altair changed his voice to sound like his mother as he pretended to scold Robyn for not dancing with the other boys. He was rewarded with her giggling and couldn't help but smile.

Thier adventure inside the crypt lasted for several hours until their curiosity was quenched. They were about to leave when Robyn tugged at his arm and pulled him over to a larger sarcophagus. Two names were etched on the plate, revealing that two people had been buried together inside, and by the names Altair could faintly remembered it being his great great great grandparents.

Two stone hands clasped together in a loving embrace rested upon the top of the sarcophagus. He watched Robyn remove a small metal ring he had made for her. The ring was made of a flexible wire that he weaved into a criss-cross circular formation. He had made himself one as well, which she slipped off his hand. Pulling apart the ends of both rings, she intertwined the two so that they became linked together.

Taking the linked rings from her, he slipped them into the small gap inside the clasped hands as she instructed. Taking a step back he realized what he had done, and looked away from her as his face turned red.

Drowsiness started to tighten its grip on Altair as the night wore on. Shivering still, he moved as close to Robyn as he was able to and then leaned his head against her shoulder. Sleep enveloped him soon after.</font>

[ 08-01-2006, 10:10 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=lemonchiffon>The stormy clouds had drifted towards Alesbridge, leaving a drenched terrain of vegetation behind. Vegetation was the right description; the beasts had left at her instruction and headed for the city, intent on avenging the injustices they had long suffered at the hands of those people. The air was crisp and clear, but she noticed how a dull note seemed to ring in it.

What could have happened?

Anxiously, she tore her gaze from the horizon and downward, seeing the weeping trees. Another murder! Despite her earlier resolutions, she found herself spluttering with anguish. Why can they not leave us alone?! Must it come to this, even now, that at this old age of mine, I have to personally be involved in this war? I... Then she paused, her eyes transfixed upon the carcass. Peering closer, she shuddered as she identified the dead body.

It was herself.

Aco was flailing his remaining limbs, gesturing to those who cared to listen, that it had not been his fault. Why would he have slain their cherished mistress and friend, Gatha? To do so just after she had stroked him with such tenderness would have been a sin deserving of an instantaneous death. No, it had been the Lightning God's fault! And yet Aco glanced about, terrified of a swift rebuke for his audacity. Poor Gatha, she who had pampered and comforted them in their time of need... to think that she had died by the literal hand of one of them! The shrubs sobbed and their cousins shook their heads. It was such a sorrowful business, this. But Gatha would not blame them, would not blame Aco. She would understand.

But Gatha did not understand. At any rate, she could not comprehend how it came to be that she was witnessing this scene, her corpse still quite fresh and crushed under Aco's misplaced arm. What was she doing... and floating in the air? For strangely, she was really drifting around, her entire body (or whatever form it was) free from aches, injury and burdens.

Am I going to heaven? Perhaps her prayers had been answered, and she could feel her heart - if it were a heart - singing.

<font color=lime>"UTTER NONSENSE."</font> The sheer disgust in this pronouncement was unmistakable.

Who are you? No audible words emitted, but it appeared that they - whoever was talking to her - could hear her.

<font color=lime>"WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?"</font>

It was annoying, to say the least. Fancy butting in to others' thoughts without a self-introduction, and passing judgement on their thoughts. Who did they think they were, gods?

<font color=lime>"FINALLY, YOU SEE SOME SENSE. GOOD."</font> The patronising tone of the voice made her want to strangle it, except that she did not seem to have hands... eh? No hands? No feet? What was going on?

<font color=lime>"IF YOU WILL STOP INTERJECTING MY PIECE, GATHA..."</font> It was the first time she was being directly addressed. <font color=lime>"... WE CAN COME TO THE INEVITABLE CONCLUSION SOONER. NOW, LISTEN TO ME."</font>

A sigh of relief followed this, as whoever-it-was noted her meek complaisance for now. <font color=lime>"YOU ARE DEAD. THAT IS QUITE OBVIOUS FROM THAT SPLAT ON THE GROUND THAT WAS FORMERLY YOUR SHELL."</font> There was a slight pause, then, <font color=lime>"YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HEAVEN, NOT AFTER THOSE NASTY THINGS YOU DID TO THE PEOPLE."</font> And as if to silence her protest, the voice continued sternly. <font color=lime>"DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP ABOUT NOT HAVING GOOD MORALS INSTILLED UPON YOU, AND I DON'T WANT TO SEE A SELF-ABSORBED, SELF-PITYING AND SELF-DECEIVING FOOL. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, TRYING TO PULL OUT THIS REASONING EVEN AFTER YOUR DEATH."</font>

Gatha was dumbstruck; everything uttered so far was coherent. <font color=lime>"JUST BEFORE YOU DIED, FORTUNATELY, YOU ACKNOWLEDGED THAT YOU MIGHT HAVE COMMITTED WRONGS IN THE PAST. THAT SHOWS THAT YOU DO HAVE AN INNATE CONCEPT OF RIGHT AND WRONG."</font> Strange that these so-called gods needed to take a deep breath between statements too! <font color=lime>"TWO WRONGS DO NOT MAKE A RIGHT. WHAT MORE, THE NUMEROUS WRONGS YOU COMMITTED."</font>

Am I going to hell then? Ah well, she had tried at least... tried what, she could not really pinpoint, however.

<font color=lime>"NO, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HELL."</font> And there, it seemed that the voice would speak no more.

Grimacing, Gatha growled. Are you trying to keep me in suspense, O mighty being? Where am I going, then?!

<font color=lime>"DEATH HAS NOT SWEETENED THAT CAUSTIC TONGUE, WE SEE."</font> The tone was mild, even amused; it only infuriated her more. <font color=lime>"YOU ARE GOING... IN SUSPENSION."</font>

What kind of a place is that? She made a face. Is it a ... funky place? Her release from an aged body had lended some humour, despite the retention of that uncontrollable tongue.

<font color=lime>"WE DO NOT KNOW, AND WE DO NOT CARE."</font> She could almost swear that the so-called gods were shrugging their shoulders by now. <font color=lime>"THERE SEEMS TO BE ONLY ONE OTHER CHARACTER SO FAR, WHO HAS ATTAINED THE STATE OF SUSPENSION."</font>

Who? Yes, who was this pathetic creature whom they were speaking of?

<font color=lime>"MYRON EPIMETHEUS. HE WAS LAST SEEN IN THE SHADOW OF LOVE THREAD IN THE LORD OF THE FORUMS THREAD."</font>

Myron what? What thread in what thread? Perhaps her mental ability could not be enhanced by now, more was the pity.

<font color=lime>"YES. UNLESS YOU MANAGE TO GAIN MORE SENSE, WHICH YOU MIGHT IF YOU VISITED HIS LIBRARY."</font>

In the ensuing silence, she could feel it in her bones - but she had not bones, or did she? Oh, it was so complicating and frustrating! - that the intruders had gone.

Had they really been gods? It was hard to doubt these, although the choice of words they had used had been quite, well, ungodly (or rather un-godlike).

Whatever it was, there seemed only to be one journey ahead... to find this Myron Epimetheus guy in the Lord of the Forums thread and see what could be done there. It might even be interesting, compared to an extreme life of eternal bliss or eternal suffering.

Nodding to herself, Gatha took a deep breath and began on her journey to her new destination...</font>

<font color=thistle>Watching Altair finally doze off, she beamed widely. I'll stay awake as much as I can... I've got to keep watch, after all. It was strange how well motherly instinct and passionate affection blended so well in her feelings towards him. As the air grew quieter without his gentle snores, however, her mood turned pensive and thoughts flew to her father.

How was he feeling at this moment? Would Mama have found him by now and be heartbroken? Staring into the fire, she picked up a stray twig and poked at it absently. Papa...

<font color=mediumturquoise>"Papa! Papa!" Her small feet padding along the corridor, she was busy wiping away her tears in search of doting and comfort. Stumbling against a pair of long flannel-clothed legs, she gazed up, her watery eyes filled with sadness.

"What is it now, Robyn?" Lord Gerald stooped down so that they maintained eye contact. She thought that he was the handsomest father anyone could ever hope for.

"I can't sleep..." and she broke into heartwrenched and helpless sobs again. "I've tried, Papa, I've really tried... but I can't sleep!" This was a tragedy he did not seem to grasp, and she wept, seeing his smirk. "I need enough rest for tomorrow's horseriding competition, Papa! I have to win!" She tugged at his sleeves accusingly. "Don't you care? I need enough sleep... Mama said so."

In answer, Lord Gerald swept her off her feet and carried her back to her warm, cosy bed. Tucking her in, he laid beside her, muttering his soft instructions.

"Don't worry, Robyn. You'll eventually drift off. I'll stay here until you do."

"I won't be able to..." She was as forlorn as he was amused.

"Hush now, my pet. You just shut your eyes and count... one... two... three..."

There was a long pause, then...

"I still can't!"

"Let's start again, Robyn. One... two... three..."

And incredibly, every single time, this magic of his would work. Regardless of how tired he was, somehow he just managed to stay awake longer than her, counting and re-counting until she did not know he had slipped back to his own room...</font>

The tears would not stop flowing out of her eyes, now that she recalled this scene. It was only one instance of his kindness, patience and open-mindedness towards herself.

How had she reciprocated?

By flinging his words of caution into the air. By trampling his love for her, just as the hooves of the horse had trampled the grounds it covered as they tore their way to the forest.
By forcing him to surrender his own safety and health, in attempting to find her.
By hurling him into the hands of the enemy, who had then mutilated him.

Biting her salt-moistened lips and gently easing Altair's head so that it leaned against the wall, she crawled as silently and quickly as she could outside the overhang.

It had stopped raining by now, but the cold air breathed upon her back as if reprimanding her for her act of treason. Giving in to her pain, she knelt down and buried her eyes into her hands, suppressing her cries as much as she could. The repression only served to shake her entire frame and her shoulders heaved up and down uncontrollably.

I must stop. She wiped her eyes again, then the guilt returned. I ought to repent more. What was one to do - be rational or filial? Did being filial entail prolonged sadness, even if the sadness accomplished nothing?

Cuddling to herself, she gazed upon the starless night. You've got to be strong, for both Papa and Altair. Thinking of the latter, she pulled out her pendant again.

<font color=teal>Wherever you are, the sun, star and moon will always be there for you even if you don't see it. Just as I will be.</font>

Those had been his words of years ago, and their reunion might just not have happened. It was strange, how life worked. Perhaps there were miracles after all...

Heading back into the overhang, she sat herself next to Altair, but found her eyelids lowering after her earlier outburst.

Before she had counted to ten, she, too, had drifted to sleep.</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> Lord Swizec stood next to his son. <font color=steelblue>"You should dance with the other girls, Altair. Young Vivian has wanted to dance with you, yet you keep ignoring her to dance with Lord Gerald's daughter."</font> Altair made a face at the thought of Vivian Jasper. "Father, you can't expect me to dance with her! She only talks about our family wealth, and that's boring to discuss..." Sighing, Lord Swizec looked at his son sternly. <font color=steelblue> "Your mother will be disgraced if she finds out you have been ignoring the daughters of our other guests. We want to find you a suitable wife, and Lord Jasper's family would make a nice political ally."</font>

Gripping his son's arm, Lord Swizec brought Altair over to Lord Jasper and his daughter. <font color=steelblue> "William! It's good to see you again my friend."</font> Altair thought he was going to be sick at the fake pleasantries. <font color=darkgray> "Ah, Ruben! You seem to be doing well."</font> After shaking hands and the short swapping of stories, Lord Swizec thrust his son forward to Vivian.

She was a year younger than Altair, with rich brown hair and dark green eyes. The younger boys were quite taken by her beauty. <font color=lightgreen> "I'm pleased to see you Altair."</font> A short curtsy was followed after, and he tried not to roll his eyes. Giving a slight bow, he forced out his words with distaste. "I'm glad you were able to come."

He was about to run off when he caught sight of Robyn, but Lord Swizec would have none of that. Practically throwing his son at Vivian, he offered a joke to Lord Jasper on how difficult children could be. Admitting defeat, he grabbed Vivian's hand and rested his left against her waist. Altair grimaced when he looked at her eyes. He loved Robyn's green eyes; they were always so bright and full of life. Vivian's, however, looked like dull glass that badly needed to be polished.

Looking over her shoulder, he caught sight of Robyn dancing with a young boy. She looked miserable as the boy rambled on about something Altair could only imagine. He continued to dance with Vivian, but moved her closer and closer to where Robyn was dancing. The dance required partners to be swapped for a brief moment with the pair next to them, and then swap back to the original partner.

They were dancing right next to Robyn now, and Altair timed it so Robyn would be the partner he swapped with. Grinning, he quickly moved Robyn away with him and began to dance with her in the opposite corner of Vivian. Their fun was short lived though when he noticed his father's disapproving glare.

Altair awoke from his troubled sleep as the sun began its crawl into the sky. His wounds were feeling a little better and his spirits raised at the sight of Robyn asleep next to him. The sunlight reflected against the pendant she had left out, and he reached out to examine it better.

He knew it was several years old, yet she had taken such good care of it that it appeared new. Resting the pendant back against her shirt, he started to wonder what Lord Gerald would say about the situation. Altair knew the man was gravely wounded, and would need his daughter more than ever. Letting out a deep breath, he knew today would be a changing point in his life, and he could only hope that it would be for the better.</font>

<font color=lightblue>As the first creature emerged from the darkness and its outlines became a furry mass at the light of the storm letting loose another bolt of lightning, Sean tried to calm his shaky nerves. He managed to calm them to the point where he at least wasn't visibly shaking. He glanced at Rehan, hoping to draw courage from the hero.

And then with a sudden fury the battle commenced. The adrenaline pumped in Sean's veins and his heart pounded in his throat. He held his shield and long sword high, protecting himself from any feline pouncing at him. The first wave of the attacking animals crashed against the defences and was repelled. Blood glistened on Sean's sword, but given the ferocity of the initial wave, he wasn't sure whether the blood was that of foe or friend. The second wave pushed Sean and his companions close to a breaking point, but they managed to hold their defensive line, but Rehan was swept back, deep in combat with one of the beasts.

"Slash, thrust, parry!" the voice of his trainer from years ago rang aloud in Rehan's mind as he put the well rehearsed moves into practice for the first time in a real combat situation. "Put your left foot in front of the right and bring up your shield arm! The other left foot Sean!"

Sean did as the memories told him, and just managed to avoid a panther lunging at him, bashing it aside with his shield. Once the disoriented animal landed on the ground, Sean pushed his sword through its hide, bringing a yelp of pain and anguish from his mortally wounded adversary.

Even though his life was in danger, and at any moment it might have been snuffed out by a lucky swipe of a paw, or jaws closing around his neck, Sean could not help but contemplate what madness had brought the two sides to fight each other. What will could have pushed the normally secluded creatures to come out in force, with the clear aim of destroying the town of Alesbridge. Was all this mindless killing really the doing of the beasts, or had they been force into doing it against their will?

Sean's train of thought was cut short by a sharp reminder of the current situation as an arrow sent by a friend whistled past his ear, to imbed itself into the mouth of a jaguar, just about to jump at him. Sean glanced gratefully behind him, only to see the archer's jugular slashed open by another jaguar.

The cruelty of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, but gripping his sword tightly he rushed at the jaguar.</font>

<font color=thistle><font color=silver>”You like Altair very much, don’t you, Robyn?”</font>

Glancing up at her father, her emerald-green eyes admonished him. As if she had to verify such a fact! Papa could be so muddle-headed sometimes.

<font color=silver>“How much do you like him, then?”</font> Her father’s eyes, a shade darker than hers, glittered just as brilliantly. <font color=silver>“Enough to marry him and be his wife?”</font>

Marry? Wife? The very words strangled her breath, just as they brought a rush of colour to her cheeks. “You’re not being fair, Papa. I’m only ten, you know.”

<font color=silver>“Precisely.”</font> That was all he had had to say. Too late did she discover she had fallen for another of his winding paths; their lengths varied with what the occasion required, but he always got back to the point and made it look so simple that she felt foolish. <font color=silver>“You are only ten, Robyn, but you show such favouritism for a boy you’re not sure you want to marry and be a wife to.”</font> Yet he had enough mercy to give her a friendly nudge. <font color=silver>“Aren’t you giving up your chances too soon? And those poor boys who tried so hard to pass you love-notes, send you flowers and offer you candy?”</font> He coughed slightly. <font color=silver>“Yes, I’ve noticed these intrigues going on for a while, my daughter. If you didn’t know before, I’m sure you do now. You’re quite an attractive young lady, even if I say so myself.”</font>

“What are you trying to get at, Papa?” She was studying her fingers diligently. Did he want her to ignore Altair? How could she say such a thing to Altair? He seemed so dominant in her life, even when he was not physically around. Their hearts connected indescribably, and each day spent without his company was an ordeal.

<font color=silver>“I think you should give yourself, and Altair, some time.”</font> Lord Gerald’s expression was serious now, as he gently tilted his daughter’s chin. <font color=silver>“If you’re not sure you want to be his wife - and that’s assuming we, your parents, have no objections - you shouldn’t waste his time, and yours unnecessarily.”</font> Sympathy radiated in those radiant eyes as he caught the expression that flitted across her face momentarily. <font color=silver> “I’m not asking you to totally avoid him, of course. Friendship should always be encouraged.”</font> That was Papa; so understanding and always treating her as an equal. He would have been the perfect husband if he were her age. <font color=silver>“But try to give yourselves some space, Robyn. Feelings keep us alive, but an excess of them without further thought is dangerous.”</font>

As he got up, he patted her shoulder reassuringly and left the room, she turned to the window and peered out at the pouring rain. Did life have to be so complicated? Was it not good enough to know she wanted to be with Altair forever? Did wanting to be with him forever mean she wished to be his wife? The thought sent another flush to her cheeks, though a delicious thrill was gurgling somewhere inside. Maybe she was just shy and did not want to admit a decision subconsciously formed since some time ago. Or was she just being selfish, that she did not want to share Altair – and perhaps have to give him up totally, if he should wed a possessive wife – with another woman?

The rain continued to fall, ignoring the torrent of questions left unanswered in her troubled heart. But with the typical exuberance of youth, she shoved her confusion aside and turned to her texts on hunting instead. Yes, Papa was right. She was so young, and there was plenty of time. When she and Altair were both grown, her suspicions would probably be confirmed. She only hoped that Altair would wait for her…

Somewhere, an audience was applauding because the spectators were enjoying the unfolding of a long forgotten tale. The protagonists had grown up and only last night, found each other. The male lead had shown that he liked the leading lady still, and in a way beyond that of friendship. It was not time yet for the curtains to fall, but the scene was still heavenly; so heavenly that the audience did not want to leave, to be interrupted.

But there was another call to answer, and its tone was urgent. It reminded Robyn that Papa was still in danger and she had to return to him. Reluctantly, she let go of her happy state and arose, only to find Altair in a serious mood, staring into space. She waited until the moment passed, then got up and placed her hand on his shoulder gently, murmuring the words of the cure wound spell, followed by the remaining cure light wound ones.

Great relief surged through her as she found him restored to his full health now, and impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his back. Altair. Was the strong emotion she had always felt for him, love? Would this emotion which she suspected he returned, enough to see them through the trials ahead?

Releasing her hold, she patted him gently on the arm. “It’s time to move on.” Another wave of regret, uncertainty and affection washed over her.</font>

[ 08-02-2006, 10:14 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=gold>Perspiration was pouring down the side of Gerald’s face as the minutes, then hours worn on. Above, the skies were transiting from a gloomy black to an orangish yellow, and this brightening of day, as well as the retreat of the storm, emboldened him, even as he felt his shoulders aching terribly and legs slowly giving way to the sheer strain that the battle was placing on him and his fellowmen.

Grunting as he swung his prized blade round and tore it across the throat of a leaping puma, he was about to head towards a guard nearby who was struggling to fend off another ferocious leopard when a deafening roar stopped him in his tracks. And it seemed that everywhere, man and beast froze in response to the roar, which lingered and surprisingly, sentiments.

The intent to terrorise had been obvious, and fury was easy to detect. But nothing had quite prepared Gerald to feel the sense of loss. To his distress, he found himself beginning to feel sorry for the dead, whether these were his allies or foes. Was this witchcraft, or delusion? How could he be on the enemy’s side? Yet this was an unstoppable emotion that rooted him to the ground, as if someone were telling him: all life is precious, and one murder does not bring back the life of another.

Gradually, the roar died off and he thought he caught the glimpse of a magnificent lion, its mane flowing freely in the cool shafts of wind. There was wink of light in those bright, humane eyes and he briefly contemplated if a film of water covered their surfaces. It could not be, though, surely; animals could not cry.

Before long, and to his complete astonishment, the creatures began to withdraw in deadly silence and Gerald hurriedly motioned for his men to back off. There was no honour in attacking when the enemies’ backs were turned, and besides, an inner voice told him that a greater sorrow awaited them. Perhaps something untoward had happened to their mistress… yes, that was most likely. Now that he was out of danger, he could even afford to be magnanimous and wish her well; and it was not difficult, for despite her earlier cruelty to him, she had kept his entire family intact.

Speaking of which, he now had to deal with Yasmine.

Wearily, he trudged on, his tired eyes skimming the carcasses and corpses even as he instructed his men to help the wounded immediately to the infirmary. In the background, he sensed slow movement, but it was movement nevertheless; everyone was exhausted, and as long as they could hold on, medical aid was on hand to nurse them back to health.

Pausing in his tracks, he stooped down as he saw the glaring garment before him. There had been enough patches of the garish colour amid the mud stains and films of blood. Holding up her back, he gazed upon the face of the woman he had married nineteen years ago.

This was the woman whom he had been smitten by in her coming-out ball, for she had been simultaneously vivacious and elegant; her family wealth had sealed their match but he would have chosen her even if she had been penniless and his parents had objected.

This was the woman who had captivated their guests as much as she had fascinated him, the woman who had given birth to the apple of his eye. She had been an outstanding hostess, a supportive companion and a reasonably caring mother.

This was also the woman who had abandoned him at the first sign of his imperfection. And it was not just abandonment; she had urged him to take his life.

How was such a turnabout possible? It did not make sense, and in hopeless puzzlement, he searched her lifeless body, hunting for a clue. Success was his reward, when he chanced upon a letter, tucked away so snugly that had he not taken extra pains, the find would never have been made. The note’s scented perfume still lingered in the air, and her handwriting had never been fairer:

<font color=powderblue>”You will be surprised and even jubilant at your victory, my dear Karl. To that, I have nothing to say, because this triumph comes so unexpectedly and you have not worked for it the way I had hoped.

Be that as it may, time is short, so listen carefully, my darling. The years of torment are over; we will shortly be reunited. In fact, you are to make haste here to Alesbridge in the swiftest mode possible. Gerald lies at death’s door, and I have given him the key to unlock it. The details, I will give you later, as soon as I am in your arms again and drawing strength from you.

You may blame me then, for so heartlessly leaving you back then. I had no choice then; you know how these obsessions with family wealth and traditions are like. The frequency and length of my past letters are surely sufficient proof about my feelings for you.

Enough said; you must make haste, and forget the packing. There is enough here to last us a lifetime. Come to me, I say.

Yours,
Y.</font>

So fair a hand, and so treacherous a heart. He lowered the letter, not quite crushing it, as if he knew that he would reread it in time to come. I hate you, Yasmine. Hate could not even do what he was feeling, justice. Have our happier days not moved you at all? Fool that he was, thinking that he would be able to touch her heart with time, even as she had told him frankly one night before their wedding that she could not return his love the way he deserved it. No, I deserve it. She had been honest enough, though she had not mentioned her secret lover.

He could not tell whether his heart was burning or bleeding, but pain gripped him all the same, and in such circumstances, did it really matter what the symptoms were? You feel this because you love her, Gerald. Sighing, he folded the letter and slid it into his inner pockets. You’ve given your heart to a woman who could not return it, and the hatred only shows the extent of how you felt for her. He remained squatted, his hand tracing her cold fingers slightly. You can erase neither those memories nor that passion you bestowed upon her. As if in an afterthought, he lifted her left hand and removed her wedding ring; it had meant nothing to her, and she would certainly not miss it now.

Slowly, he got up, his gaze lingering upon her face. One day, I will feel sorry for your side of the story, Yasmine. But not today. I need time. Turning aside, he called for the manservants to carry his dead wife to the family tomb, ignoring their wonder at his lack of grief. The day is dark, Gerald, but you will survive. You always have.

Holding his head up, he nodded to himself and walked towards the manor.</font>

<font color=cadetblue> Sighing in relief, Rehan slid his sword home into its sheath. He marveled how terribly beautiful and tragic war could be. Blood had painted a picture of agony and hope across the drenched ground. Shaking water from his hair, for he had lost his helmet at the start, Rehan made his way over to help a wounded comrade.

The older guard had a deep gash across his chin, and appeared to still be witnessing horrors long forgotten. "Calm down, I'll get you to the healers." Struggling to stand up, the guard gripped Rehan's arm and leaned heavily against him.

"You're lucky, you know that?" The older man raised his eyebrows at Rehan and grumbled something under his breath. "We're in a better position then that dead man there, or that archer with his throat torn open..." Shouldn't he be feeling happy? The battle was over, Alesbridge had won, and yet all this death tainted his thoughts.

Was it for nothing? While several had given their lives, several more had lived because of it. He should feel proud of the effort these men gave for their home and loved ones.

<font color=coffee> "I have two young daughters."</font> The solider commented roughly. <font color=coffee>"I helped save them, as did you and the rest of Alesbridge... That made all the slaughter here worth it right?"</font>

Rehan nodded, feeling pride fill his chest at what Alesbridge had managed to accomplish. "Yes, you helped save this city. Alesbridge has won!" He gave out a loud cheer which the wounded guard followed in soon after.</font>

<font color=darkkhaki> He was impressed at Robyn's skills of healing his injuries. Rolling his shoulders only caused a dull ache, which he suspected would soon disappear. Her affection towards him that morning had been a warm surprise, causing him to return the embrace before they set out for Alesbridge.

It was a somewhat uncomfortable journey due to their damp clothing that weighed down on them. As they made it back to the forest, Altair considered the chances they would have of going through it. Something was different, and he couldn't quite place it. It seemed as if the life was being sucked out of the woods before them. The choice was a gamble. Walking around the forest could possibly take another day, while going through it would only be a few hours.

"Do you feel it?" He whispered to her as he edged closer to the tree line. Animals that would be normally heard in the morning were quiet, and the vegetation seemed to be lacking its energy. Maybe the guiding force behind all of this is gone? Altair didn't have an explanation for the strange occurrence.

Robyn's life was now put on the line along with as his own. He could no longer so easily gamble his life away on choices that he didn't know the outcome to. Returning his gaze to her, "Which would you rather do? The forest is a mysterious danger that I would like to skip if we can, but it is a faster way to Alesbridge. Something has happened to it, some sort of change, and I don't know if it is in our favor."</font>

[ 08-03-2006, 02:31 AM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=yellowgreen>There was something about retreating in the midst of battle that was dreadfully undignified. Several of them had turned in disgust, especially when they heard the devious humans approach them with drawn weapons. It was Torch's growl - low but audible - that kept them in their place, however. Just as the chieftain of the other side signalled his men to step aside.

There was something about making their way so slowly out of the arena that was maddening. True, they had been in war and those surviving were bruised, yet that was no reason to leave so pathetically, devoid of pride and honour. Again, it was Torch's snarl that it was not in their place to decide.

Torch's gnarl was as welcome as herbs, for their meals. Never had he had to command them and the fact that he was doing so depressed not only themselves, but Torch himself. Gatha had left him as chief-in-command whenever she was away and decisions had to be made; but this had been a totally unnecessary measure, until today.

Today, Torch unwillingly led his friends back into their home. There was no need to sing heroic songs of their fallen comrades, unlike the humans; actions spoke louder than words. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"Look to the future."</font> Gatha had often told them, and the best tribute they could pay her was to heed her words.

Gatha. As each beast pronounced her name in his or her heart, differing recollections arose. Some had heard of Gatha's sprints with their great great grandfathers, in her younger days; others had borne her on several romps around the inner parts of the forest. Still others had sulked when she offered them berries instead of fresh meat, ignoring her cajolling caresses. One or two had tried to trip her just a few weeks ago, and smirked when she gingerly got up and rubbed her thigh and back. The younger ones' faces crumped as they remembered snubbing her when she tried to tell them tales of the forest.

No one dared to cry, because Gatha would not have liked it. She, who had had every reason to cry, had only done so once. By word of mouth, all had heard from their ancestors, relatives and friends that this iron-willed champion had cried only upon the night she was forsaken to die in the forest. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"There is no point crying."</font> she had said afterwards, and not only a few times. <font color=mediumspringgreen>"No one would care, and it only gets me drained from being weepy."</font> Again, the biggest compliment they could pay her now was to accept her death without whimpering like weaklings.

Yes, they knew she was dead. They had known since they heard Torch's first gnarl. And he had learnt the news when a flock of woeful mynahs swept down to his ears and relayed the tragedy. Torch, who had just ripped off a human's arm, had suffered a gash in his stunned response, before he hurriedly gripped the human's longsword with his teeth, flung man and weapon a few metres away and made his announcement.

On they padded the ground, each lost in a world of his or her own. So many things they saw or heard reminded them of Gatha, and their burdens just never got lighter. What would life be without her? How could she have gone without saying goodbye?

Entering the forest now, they felt the protective arms of the trees shading them from the distractions of an outer world they cared nothing for. Occasionally, a branch would sweep down and stroke their backs, only to jerk back when they angrily refused the act of consolation. They would be fine; just leave them alone, thank you very much. And the trees lapsed into a shield of empathy.

Suddenly, one of them espied a couple of humans in the distance at the edge of the forest. Before she could leap off, however, Torch had sprung into her path and snapped. There would be no more bloodshed for now, the glint in his eye ordered. She lowered her head in disappointment and kept in line.

At long last, they had reached the site of the disaster, and all fell upon their limbs, their heads bowed in respectful silence.

The wake of Gatha had begun, but no eulogy was required.</font>

<font color=thistle>She would dearly have loved to just take off into the forest, for the longer she stayed away from Alesbridge, the more she feared for her father's safety. Besides, these clothes are sticky and cold. Already, she was starting to shiver. The worst thing that could happen was that either of them fall ill, and their return to the city delayed.

Altair's words, however, rang in her ears. He, who understood her most, would know how badly she wanted to be home. He had said his piece, only because he was truly worried for their survival. Gratefully, she smiled at him. It was so nice to be cared for.

Yet even as they lingered there, she could sense that something odd was happening in the forest. The sagging branches, the sickly shades of the undergrowth all pointed at a subdued energy level, which contrasted starkly with the raw danger she had felt when she first entered it.

Quickly, she lowered her ears to the ground and listened intently. "There's a horde of beasts in that direction." She spoke softly, pointing ahead. "But from the sound of their footsteps, they seem to be moving lethargically... as if the will to live has been drawn from them."

Getting up, she turned to Altair. "If we move quietly enough, they may just let us by... they don't seem very active and bloodthirsty today." But when her eyes focused on his face, she faltered. I'm being too selfish. Besides, if anything happened to herself, who else would take care of Papa?

"Let's take the longer route, Altair." She grabbed his wrist and began to tow him away. Don't loiter, or your conviction will waver.</font>

[ 08-03-2006, 09:31 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=lemonchiffon>The first brush with this suspension business had shocked her. Anyone in the right frame of mind would be. So don't you worry, Gatha. You're alright. She had repeated the words, willing them to come true. Those pesky gods - if they are indeed gods - they're just out to scare a newbie, and you almost fell for it.

Now that she was left to her own devices, and no one to harass her at the moment, she paused in her steps; she had left the forest some time ago, and now she settled herself to think. It was difficult, this thinking business. There had not been too much demand for it back there, where life was simple and all were her friends.

If I'm neither in Heaven - which is true, because I still see the world around me - nor in Hell - which I doubt would be so colourful and vibrant in a good sort of way, I am... She hesitated, the word 'suspension' tasting exceptionally unsavoury in her lips... which brought her to another point, but more on that later.

Aren't I a ghostie? The more she thought of it, the higher the likelihood this was. Everyone - at least before she had been dumped in the forest - had described it so. Souls which left their bodies and wandered around were ghosties. And they had much fun, scaring the lights out of people. Doesn't that make 'suspension' a pompous version of the word 'ghosthood'? Mentally, she made a note to ask Myron that.

Yes, she had pronounced his name so many times by now - for fear of forgetting it, another pompous name this was! - that she had come to regard him as a long-lost brother. Hey there, Myron! She'd wave to him... if she had the hands, and again this was a point she had to get a grip on again.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a few seconds before re-opening them. Scrutinising down, she found to her half-disbelief that she actually did own a pair of hands, at least in shape. They were fuzzy in a translucent bluish grey, and she could move them at will. Carefully, she raised them and shifted them towards her line of vision. Drawing them nearer, she nearly squealed with delight as they contacted with a surface; she had a face, then! Her confidence regained, she now glanced down and heaved another sigh of relief as she discovered a pair of 'ghostie' feet. All was well, and she was about to whoop for joy when she gasped.

Sharp bursts of energy had afflicted her mind and chest, and she doubled over, panting. The forest... something had happened, and she could somehow still feel a connection to it...

Moment by moment, she began to understand.

You silly, sentimental shrubs, shouldering such sadness. She must be one of them then, to reciprocate their feelings. You have work to do, now that I'm gone. Don't wither, don't dither, don't forget your promise to this sister. She had not known that ghosties could feel immense pain; now she did.

You whimpering willows, why waste water? For she knew that they, too, had collapsed in grief, and pouring their woes to their relatives and all who cared to listen.

Torch, you champion. She would waste no poetry on him. I've made the right choice. Nothing else needed to be said. Torch he had been named, and torch-bearer he would be, of the forest, from now on.

As for the lot of you impish louts... Her vision was blurring now, as she realised also for the first time that ghosties could cry. You're not to tell your children that you tripped the Great Gatha, you hear me?! Yet amid the tears, she was smiling, recalling those embarassing moments.

Ah... now, you feel remorse, eh? She sniffed, wiping her eyes. Didn't want to listen to my stories now, did you? Well, you'll never have to fear that again, blech! Her tone softened quickly, however. Now, now.. your parents and grandparents are so sick of hearing me relay them. They'll surely be able to share the stories with you.

To all the rest at large, she could only close her eyes and summon all her energies, radiating what love and comfort she had to them, these faithful friends who had set up a wake for her.

There now, no crying, I said. She flushed, glad that they could not see her blubbering. Just remember not to eat me, alright, after the wake? She tried to chortle, snorting in her efforts. Just dump me into my pool or something. No need for anything showy or fussy.

So it was goodbye, forever, then. I don't want to go... really, I don't. The bluish tint of her eyes were turning almost purple by now. But I've had to, and there's nothing we can do about it. Except to remember each other. Sighing, she nodded to herself and brushed away her tears. We need to move on, my friends, with fond memories.

Wretchedly, she kicked her right foot with her left. "Move on!" Wincing, she resumed her journey again, mumbling to herself.

"Hey there, Myron! Isn't a suspended soul a ghostie..." </font>

[ 08-03-2006, 10:23 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=darkkhaki> Is this the right choice? Her father could be dying and the longer we get there the less time he has. Then again, if we die on the way to Alesbridge what good would that do us... Allowing himself to be towed away, Altair walked silently next to Robyn.

The entire situation he now found himself in boggled his mind. So many things could have changed or happened differently. The slightest event could have put him on a different path that would have ended up in the opposite direction of Robyn.

He glanced over at her as she walked next to him. The Robyn from his childhood was still there, but she had grown into a young woman. He realized he didn't know much about her anymore. His past memories were still with him, but she was no longer a little girl. People changed with time, and he was living proof of that.

Her hair was longer than he remembered, and her body had matured along with her age, which he felt his face turn warm at as he noticed for the first time her wet clothing clinging to her. Robyn's green eyes remained unchanged though. The energy and life he always saw in them was still there, along with the wisdom she had learned through the years.

Looking away, he busied himself with what he planned to do once they reached Alesbridge. Robyn would need to look after he father and rule the city in his absence, but what did that mean for him? He was just a thief now, and didn't know what he could offer to help her during her troubles. Altair knew he loved her, and he had known since they were children, but would that be enough?

Berad would laugh at you right now. He'd say how soft you're turning because of a girl. Are you really going to put away all those hard years of training? Did the experience mean nothing?

His expression turned serious as he thought of Berad. The older man was a teacher and father to him, but also his worst nightmare if he messed up a training session or didn't get out of his way after the man returned from the bar. If he had the choice to go back and change the course of actions he decided on with his path in life, he knew he couldn't say he regretted it.

If he had stayed at home he would be unhappily married to Vivian Jasper right now, dealing with his father's business affairs, and most likely out of contact with Robyn. His father would have saw her as a threat after the amount of work it would have taken to pry the two apart to begin with.

Breaking away from his thoughts, he looked up into the sky and noticed the sun creeping higher. The warmth attempted to dry their damp clothing as they continued on, unaware of what lay in their path ahead. Uncertainty and doubt with the touch of hope filled the young man beneath its morning light.

The dice keeps rolling in your favor so far Altair. How long will that luck last?</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 04:18 AM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=thistle>Left... right... left... right... each step that they made took them nearer to Alesbridge, where her Papa was. She did not like to dwell upon it, but the word 'crippled' whispered itself with cruel malice into her ears, so that they stung against her eardrums and clawed at her soul.

Stop it, Robyn Mehlingard. An answering bark arose from another direction. You've caused enough trouble already. Don't think that by self-blame, you can lapse into a weakling who needs others' caring. For beside her, Altair looked as if he had his own share of things to worry about. You just move on with the cards you've been dealt with.

Yes... move on. Any other decision would be an act of irresponsibility. Chewing her lips determinedly, she continued to brisk walk, her green eyes glittering.

Then, feeling Altair's eyes upon her, she turned to catch his lingering gaze and the darker-than-usual shade of his cheeks. Almost simultaneously, her own flushed and she glanced away, walking even faster. This is just terrific, Robyn Mehlingard. At this rate, we'll reach Alesbridge in no time. The sarcastic observation, of course, was targeted at bringing herself to her senses. She could not deceive herself; she had been flattered by his expression, but it was folly and immodest to dwell on the thoughts behind them.

Altair. Yes, he had been, and continued to be the companion she opened her heart readily to. Yet the Altair today, as she had told herself last night, was not the Altair of yesteryears. Just the tales he had relayed were sufficient evidence that he had undergone a number of character changes. Please keep your word, Altair. Fear suddenly gripped her as a thought occurred to her. What if he falls? Will that give me an excuse to fall, too?

Then, as if the heavens took pity on her faltering courage, they sent the first beams of sunlight from above, shooting them into the pair's path. The effect brought a smile to her lips and leaning against Altair slightly, she whispered.

"Everything will be fine." Renewed optimism highlighted her features. "Everything will be fine, Altair, if we hold on to our beliefs."</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 06:51 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=limegreen>Troubled dreams plagued Esaha's rest, brought by the utter exhaustion her sudden release of energy had brought. In her dream beasts tore down the defences of Alesbridge, overwhelmed the guards and were making their way to the manor. Only one old man stood in their way, leaning heavily on a makeshift walking stick, which had been a spade just a few minutes earlier.

For some reason the beasts did not approach him, instead trying to circle round, but the old man always blocked them from reaching the door, pushing them away as two magnets of the same polarity would. The dream shifted focus, and from the low altitude Esaha realized that she must be looking through the eyes of an animal. Everything appeared in a different shade as to what human eyes would have seen and it was this that made her recognize the figure leaning on his staff only after several seconds. Her father had the same loving look in his eyes as when he had last looked at her in the cabin. Esaha just couldn't understand how he had made it here.

The old lady of the forest suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere and pointed at Esaha's father. The gesture sent the beasts into a frenzy and they rushed at the old man. Their combined weight crashing against him sent them tumbling against the door, with a loud crash. To Esaha's horror it was the beast from whom she was watching who bent down and ripped her own father's throat open. As the blood splurted out, Esaha awoke from her nightmare with a scream.

*BOOM* *BOOM*

The knocking on the door sounded suddenly as had the beasts crashing against the door. Esaha had no idea where she was, but she drew the blankets over her head to hide from the danger on the other side of the door.

*boom* *boom*

The knocks were losing some of their intensity but still paralyzed from terror, Esaha remained under the blankets, clutching them intensely.

*knock* *knock*

A more human dimension had entered the sounds and as sleep slowly evaporated from Esaha's eyes she realised that it had all been a dream. A really bad one, but still just a dream.

"Who's there?" she asked, unable to hide a note of caution from her voice.</font>

<font color=gold>You've cried enough because of her, Gerald. He treaded the hallway slowly, as if buying time for a moment of pensiveness. To attempt any tears now would be either an act of gross deception or one of cowardice. Indeed, why should he deceive himself that he was miserable, when all he felt now was the numbness that came after grief and indignation? And why deceive the servants - who continued to receive his outward calm with bafflement - simply to stop their wagging tongues or accusatory glances?

You have done all you could, and you are accountable to no one. Another stride along another corridor. He had forgotten how large this manor was, and the stroll now reminded him of earlier times. Times that now twisted his nerves a little. They do not understand, but they dare not ask. It was amusing, to be this exalted position. He wondered how many of the help had discovered his wife's infidelity before he had. Forgive them, Gerald. You have your own faults.

One of them was curtseying now, darting an inquisitive gaze at him which he caught; the girl flushed, curtseyed again and pattered off. No doubt to confirm her conspirators' suspicions that my heart has changed so swiftly. For he had rounded the corner and was now approaching the room in the west wing, where just a day ago, he had been laying at death's door. Death's door. The words reminded him of Yasmine's unsent letter, and he clenched his fist grimly.

Suddenly, though, he heard a scream emerging from the room ahead and ran towards it anxiously. My saviour. Was she in trouble? He banged twice on the door, then again when there was no response. Momentarily, he considered knocking the door down, but it seemed overly dramatic, not to mention uncouth. One more time then.

He rapped the door twice and was rewarded with her tentative reply.

"It's me. Gerald Mehlingard." He spoke firmly to show that his intentions were honourable. "Are you alright, and may I come in?"</font>

<font color=lightsteelblue>As the horse gamely tore through the plains and forests, guilt began to eat at her. You can't push her like that, Acacia. She needs rest. After hours of non-stop riding, she herself was aching all over, what more the poor mare who had borne her ungrudgingly for that whole stretch of time. "Let's stop for now, Canna." There was a touch of pride in her voice as she said this, as she had come up with this name in the course of their travels and her companion had accepted it naturally.

As they slowed down to a trot and finally a halt, she swung herself off and tied Canna loosely to a tree. There was no need for a secure knot; the soft-hearted creature had taken to her as much as she had, to it; yet Canna could be wild enough to take care of herself in times of danger.

Sighing, Acacia sat herself beneath the tree, leaning against its trunk. Glancing up, she saw Canna's lowered snout and grinned. "Alright then." Patting it, she heard the mare's contented neigh and smiled despite herself. The best things in life can't be bought. In the background she heard the horse chewing the grass happily. And now... at last, she had this rare instant of peace to study the unexpected gift from the steward. Fumbling with the package - for package it was, rather than a singular booklet as she had mistaken it for - she untied the string. When the cover of the booklet had been turned, several letters fell out and she skimmed through them, her eyes suddenly alert with concentration.

<font color=lightgreen>March the 13th, 931

Lord Freelight,

This letter confirms the admittance of Miss Anneliese into our temple. Once again, we thank you for your confidence in our services.

Brother Ambrose,
Temple of the Heironeous
-------------------
June the 18th, 931

Lord Freelight,

This letter seeks to inform you that Miss Anneliese's health is satisfactory. She is coping with her environment, but it will take time for her to adjust completely.

Brother Ambrose,
Temple of the Heironeous
-------------------
November the 11th, 931

Lord Freelight,

This is to inform you that Miss Anneliese's spirits continue to be rather low and her appetite, decreasing. However, her penitence is real, and in that you may be assured.

Brother Ambrose,
Temple of the Heironeous
-------------------
March the 14th, 932

Lord Freelight,

We received your letter yesterday with some surprise. We will respect your wishes, however, in ceasing all correspondences with regard to Miss Anneliese.

Brother Ambrose,
Temple of the Heironeous
-------------------
December the 1st, 949

Lord Freelight,

I understand from my predecessors that you had no wish for further news of Miss Anneliese. I am writing to you, however, because Miss Anneliese has caught a bad case of influenza. The temple urges you to prepare for the worst, and if you should desire it, we will be more than pleased to make the necessary arrangements for her to spend her last months with her family.

Brother Luthor,
Temple of the Heironeous
-------------------
January the 20th, 950

Lord Freelight,

We wish to inform you that Miss Anneliese passed away at the break of dawn today. She died peacefully, with no last words.

Brother Luthor,
Temple of the Heironeous</font>

There was a horrible feeling clutching Acacia's heart as she perused the letters, as if... as if I ought to feel upset, or something. Perhaps it was the look on the steward's face that had hinted at this, and she carefully folded the letters, placing them aside.

Turning to the diary instead, she went through the pages, her eyes widened at her discovery as she uncovered the life of the mysterious Anneliese:

<font color=lightpink>August the 5th, 929

I wanted to say hello to you, because you're really such a lovely gift from Aragorn (if you didn't know, already, he's my beloved brother and your benefactor, releasing you from the bookstore). He does have exquisite taste, I'll admit it as much. Well, take care and I'll share my secrets with you as soon as I've worthy ones to relate.
-----------------------------

August the 10th, 929

What do you know, dear Tatyana (for that's the name I'm giving you; do you like it?)? I have a great big secret at last, and you're the first one I'm sharing it with, so listen carefully!

I'm in love, Tatyana... and it's not a crush, not some half-baked romance that ignorant people speak of. He is perfectly gentlemanly and caring, and it matters not that he's not a noble. He's wonderful, I tell you, and you'd agree if you met him... but you can't (for I can't let him see this entry, can I?), so you'll have to take my word for it. I'll write again, if I've more news.
----------------------

December the 25th, 929

I'm sorry for not writing much, Tatyana. But I know you'll forgive the miseries of an inexperienced woman. Yes, I say woman and not girl - as the others like to call me, for that is how Shane views me, and I'll never leave him again. There'd been such uncertainties earlier, him being so worried about my welfare that he wanted us to part. But I wouldn't hear of it, Tatyana... I couldn't live without him, and I blurted this out so unmaidenly! Before I knew it, I was in total bliss... and today, oh, today I shall remember forever.

I am wedded to Shane, my darling Tatyana. I don't need your best wishes; I know a lifetime of happiness awaits us.
-----------------

April the 19th, 930

I wish I'd not spoken so soon of eternal bliss, Tatyana. Shane goes to battle today! My heart is heavy with worry, for he valiantly signed up to join Aragorn's battle with Arrakis at Seregduin - wherever that is, it is a horrid place!

I'd begged him not to go, for Aragorn doesn't know about our marriage yet and if he did... but anyway, Shane felt bad about not helping his brother-in-law, so he just took off. Tatyana, you must protect Shane and our unborn baby. I'll do anything to protect them both; I swear.
-----------------

July the 3rd, 930

It is all over, Tatyana.

I have lost Shane.
----------------

December the 26th, 930

I'm exhausted and in excruciating pain, Tatyana, but I had to tell you.

My beloved Anya was born one day after what would have been Shane's and my wedding anniversary.
-----------------------
</font>

Jolting, Acacia nearly gasped as she read the sentence. Anya. This was what Grandma had called her, ever since she could remember anything. I'm the Anya. She choked on her breath, grasping the reality of the situation. My mother Anneliese... she's been in a temple since shortly after I was born!

She did not have to read the rest of the diary to guess what had happened next. Her dear, generous uncle - the one who had so readily paid maintenance fees to Grandma so that both of them could live in comfort and he, in some form of conscience - had sent her mother away to exile. Left her there to repent her so-called misdeeds.

Wave upon wave of consternation hit her as she considered the enormity of the history that lay before her. Parents she had never known... an uncle who had till his death still insisted on his being right... and whom she would have remained grateful towards, had she not chanced upon this ugly web of falsities... with revulsion, she snapped the diary shut, tied up her bundle and kept it safely within her belongings.

There would be plenty of time in the future to deal with this.

For now, what she had to do was catch up with rest, alongside Canna. How nice it is to be a beast, without the cares of the world. Rehan was still alive, and the alive needed more help than the dead.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and drifted off to a troubled sleep.</font>


</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 11:44 AM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=limegreen>Gerald who? she thought for a moment. Gerald, Gerald...she mulled over the name, finally realising that it was none other than Lord Gerald standing outside the door. Shaking the last vestiges of the nightmare from her mind, she stood up, smoothing out a crease in her shirt.

Once standing, she found that she had barely enough energy to keep on her feet, and had to balance herself against the wall. Opening the door also took quite an effort. Esaha wondered how she had lost so much energy, and then remembered the events of the last night, how she had called upon a power she did not know she possessed and how she had made Lord Gerald whole again.

And there he stood outside, his armor and garments soaked with the blood of what she hoped was foes. Gerald looked definitely to be unharmed and the look on his face was not one of pain, but of concern. For her, she realised.

"Err...I'm fine. It was just a pretty bad dream. I do still feel exhausted though, despite all that sleep." A sudden pang of hunger made her realise that the exhaustion was most likely from a lack of energy. She did not exactly understand what had happened the last night, but whatever it was, it must have taken a large amount of energy from her.

"I..." she broke off, not sure how much she could intrude on the Lord's hospitality. "I'm also quite famished." She had meant to say 'hungry' but the word had just blurted itself out, as if her body knew better than the mind what needed to be done. Esaha glanced sheepishly at Lord Gerald, hoping that he brought good news from the battle.</font>


OOC: I'm also working on a post for Sean, but right now I'm too tired to finish it. Tomorrow it shall be. [img]smile.gif[/img]

[ 08-05-2006, 06:41 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=gold>"Of course." Gerald spoke gravely, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress his amusement. Amusement it was, but of a fond and not derogatory nature. He had not expected her to have awakened so soon after what must have been a lifeforce-draining feat. Excusing himself, he strided to the hallway and shouted his orders before returning to her, helping her to an armchair. Sensing her tired but concerned eyes upon his bloodstained armour, he quickly stopped himself from lowering himself onto the other chair.

"You're worried about the battle, I can see that." He pursed his lips, wondering how much detail he ought to go into; some of the scenes he had taken in were not exactly pretty, and there was no need to be to graphic, especially for a girl young enough to be his daughter and who seemed still in a trance at times.

"No one won." It was true. Had the animals not departed, he doubted that Alesbridge could have claimed a victory. There was no triumph, only relief on this day. Once upon a time, he might have twisted the outcome to his advantage, paraphrased the ending so that it reflected well upon his leadership; but she who had advised him to do so was deceased, and the instructions she had given were no longer palatable, in view of her act of disloyalty to him.

"There have been casualties on both sides, as can be expected from battles of such scale." He fixed his dark green eyes upon her pale complexion. "You need not be overly concerned; the injured are being nursed back to health." That was all she needed to know, really. He heaved a sigh of liberation as he finished his piece.

Watching her, he made no further attempt at heavy conversation topics, apart from finding out her name. I will find out more about her, at another time. In the silence that followed, he perceived that the mannerisms of the stranger were a complete contrast to Robyn. The diversion lasted briefly, however, when his anxiety for his daughter returned.

At any rate, the filly was not sighted at the battle, and the forest seems to have lost some of its power. There is hope, then, that wherever she is, she is relatively unharmed. Striving to rid himself of unnecessarily depressing thoughts, he made small conversation with Esaha.

Before long, a basin of piping hot soup and a basket of freshly baked bread had arrived, followed by several slabs of choice meat. Excusing himself so that Esaha could eat without any reservation, he headed for his own bedroom to clean up and catch up on some rest.</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 07:33 PM: Message edited by: mistral4543 ]

<font color=darkkhaki> Beliefs? He was uncertain what his beliefs were now. Meeting Robyn was the start of a path he knew he was willing to attempt but was unsure of the ending. What would someone else do in his position?

<font color=red>"Hold the bow like this, and then pull back the string and shoot."</font> Altair let the arrow fly and was rewarded with a soft thud of the arrow biting into dirt. His uncle shook his head disapprovingly and notched an arrow into his own bow.

The frame of it was a stained black and made from black locust wood, or so his uncle had told him. Altair wasn't quite sure what difference the wood made, but he absorbed the information he was given.

<font color=red> "Watch again. You need to make sure you keep your arm steady and pull back far enough for the force required with the distance."</font> Quickly aiming for the distance target, Jeremiah let the arrow loose and watched with satisfaction as it plunged into the bull’s-eye. Altair felt his face turn red that he was bested repeatedly, and the target wasn't even that far away.

<font color=thistle> "Altair!"</font> The young boy looked over his shoulder to see Robyn running to them. She explained how she had been watching them and wanted to give it a try. Jeremiah chuckled at the thought of a young girl trying to shoot a bow, but handed it to her at her determined gaze. The taunt string was hard for her to pull back, but she managed well enough and both males watched in astonishment as the arrow whistled through the air and hit the target.

Jeremiah slapped Altair on the back and laughed that he had just been beat by a girl younger than himself. <font color=red> "Good thing your father wasn't out here! I have to admit though, the look on his face would have been memorable." </font> Altair felt embarrassment, pride, and envy all in one. While he was proud Robyn had managed to pull off that shot, he also felt ashamed it wasn't him who had done it and impressed her with it. The thought was foolish though, and he decided he would have Jeremiah train him later on.

Jeremiah was an honest man and stout warrior. Altair would often look up to him when he was dealing with uncertain choices, and had wished Jeremiah would trade places with his father. Ruben Swizec was a caring man in his own way, but the majority of the time he would only look out for the family as a whole rather then individuals within it. If marrying Altair to Vivian Jasper would help the Swizec family regardless of if his son approved of the idea, he would set it into motion.

He offered Robyn a faint smile at her words and then turned his gaze ahead.</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 09:48 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]

<font color=cadetblue> Rehan sat down heavily at a spare chair inside the kitchen. He had been helping wounded soldiers into the infirmary, and when there was no longer any room there into spare beds and other places of medicine inside the city. The heat from the stoves warmed his body after the stormy battle not long ago. Soup and a chunk of bread were placed before him, which he inhaled quickly.

Across the table sat the man he had met earlier with the gash slicing open his chin. He had the unpleasant experience of having it stitched back up and Rehan could sympathize with him. <font color=coffee> "I was supposed to stay in bed, but I got hungry and made my way down here to get some food. Not suppose to do that I recon, but I need my energy for my girls."</font>

Rehan nodded and gulped down the ale that was given to him. At the sound of shouts, he turned and noticed the cooks shooing out soldiers that had wandered in. <font color=silver> "Get back to your rooms! We don't need blood or any disease inside the kitchen!</font> An older woman shouted sternly.

<font color=coffee> "I think that's our cue that we're unwelcome."</font> Rehan grinned at him and helped the man up as they made their way out into the hall. <font color=cadetblue> "I'll take you back to the southern wing, and when you wake up tomorrow you can go see your family." The older man nodded and allowed himself to be lead to where the rest of the wounded soldiers were located inside the manor.

Shutting the door behind him, Rehan slowly made his way back to his room. Fatigue ate away at him as thoughts of a warm bed and secure room began to lull him to sleep. Snapping his head up, he stumbled the rest of the way to him room kicked off his blood stained armor as fast as he could. Darkness overtook him the second his head hit the pillow.</font>

[ 08-05-2006, 09:49 PM: Message edited by: Deiter Leafblade ]