Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - Tavern by the Creek (The Curses) Part III

Cyril Darkcloud · 03-13-2002, 08:53 PM

The Devouring Wind

How delightfully responsive you are! ..... O yes! This shall indeed be a rare friendship – yours and mine, Sof’ya. So strong and yet with so much, O so very much, insecurity. I am so very glad that we have had this chance for private conversation .....

Never more than a whisper, but with the dulling force of muted thunder, the voice speaks – each syllable probing, each word implying a dozen potential fears, each echo an invitation to doubt. There is no silence, there is only the mocking whisper and its echoes and they allow no other speech except the songs of doubt that they awaken.

So you are the one who would walk with him, with Seh’rul ..... An outsider like you! And who among his people will accept you, outsider? And the child, that child that once was his, how will she accept an outsider in the place of her mother? ..... Ah! Yes! His wife, her mother – now there was a life quite unlike any other ...... O yes, someone really should speak truthfully to you, outsider. And truth be told, woman, you shall disappoint him. You shall disappoint them all ......

Still the whisper speaks, each word cutting with the chill of the grave and tainting even the air she breathes with a desecrating staleness.

You do not know what lies ahead, do you, woman? Do you, Sof’ya? ...... Allow me to show you where this will lead ..... O yes! You speak of fate and destiny and prophecy and none of these matter, outsider, in the grasp of the Wind that knows no master ...... Even your outsider gods cannot save those caught by the Wind that Scatters ..... Yes, let me show you where this all shall end ......

The whisper speaks and in its speaking images emerge – of a distant and stormswept place terribly near the sky and a lonely man, a man called 'Seh’rul' ["Cyril," the voice sneers]. The winds that shriek violently around him grow still for a moment and he inhales deeply, collecting the breath of his life, and then exhales into a small earthen flask which he carefully stoppers and seals with a runic stamp as the winds grow violent again. He stands silently a moment and then surrenders the flask of his breath into the grasp of the wind. It is borne violently away from him only to be suddenly and violently returned to where he stands, shattering to pieces at his feet – his gathered breath mercilessly torn to fragments and scattered along the wind ......

As with the vessel of breath, so to with the Vessel of the Curse. O! You would do well not to forget this, Sof’ya ..... O! The wonderful irony of your name! Sof’ya, such a delight simply to say. Sof’ya ush’a ha’shama’im ......

...... But, no! No! He wakes too soon ......there are words still to say ......

[ 03-13-2002: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[ 03-13-2002: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

03-13-2002, 08:53 PM	#44
Cyril Darkcloud Lord Soth Join Date: February 7, 2002 Location: New York Posts: 1,980	The Devouring Wind How delightfully responsive you are! ..... O yes! This shall indeed be a rare friendship – yours and mine, Sof’ya. So strong and yet with so much, O so very much, insecurity. I am so very glad that we have had this chance for private conversation ..... Never more than a whisper, but with the dulling force of muted thunder, the voice speaks – each syllable probing, each word implying a dozen potential fears, each echo an invitation to doubt. There is no silence, there is only the mocking whisper and its echoes and they allow no other speech except the songs of doubt that they awaken. So you are the one who would walk with him, with Seh’rul ..... An outsider like you! And who among his people will accept you, outsider? And the child, that child that once was his, how will she accept an outsider in the place of her mother? ..... Ah! Yes! His wife, her mother – now there was a life quite unlike any other ...... O yes, someone really should speak truthfully to you, outsider. And truth be told, woman, you shall disappoint him. You shall disappoint them all ...... Still the whisper speaks, each word cutting with the chill of the grave and tainting even the air she breathes with a desecrating staleness. You do not know what lies ahead, do you, woman? Do you, Sof’ya? ...... Allow me to show you where this will lead ..... O yes! You speak of fate and destiny and prophecy and none of these matter, outsider, in the grasp of the Wind that knows no master ...... Even your outsider gods cannot save those caught by the Wind that Scatters ..... Yes, let me show you where this all shall end ...... The whisper speaks and in its speaking images emerge – of a distant and stormswept place terribly near the sky and a lonely man, a man called 'Seh’rul' ["Cyril," the voice sneers]. The winds that shriek violently around him grow still for a moment and he inhales deeply, collecting the breath of his life, and then exhales into a small earthen flask which he carefully stoppers and seals with a runic stamp as the winds grow violent again. He stands silently a moment and then surrenders the flask of his breath into the grasp of the wind. It is borne violently away from him only to be suddenly and violently returned to where he stands, shattering to pieces at his feet – his gathered breath mercilessly torn to fragments and scattered along the wind ...... As with the vessel of breath, so to with the Vessel of the Curse. O! You would do well not to forget this, Sof’ya ..... O! The wonderful irony of your name! Sof’ya, such a delight simply to say. Sof’ya ush’a ha’shama’im ...... ...... But, no! No! He wakes too soon ......there are words still to say ...... [ 03-13-2002: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ] [ 03-13-2002: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]