Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140611011154

Alyston posted March 07, 2003 07:51 AM

“The trees have all gone bare and love’s time is nearly to end…. And love’s time is nearly to end”

The soft lilt of the bard’s voice faded even as her fingers found the final notes of the song on the strings of the mandolin. The tavern was silent. All eyes were on her. It was as if time had stood still in the heartbeat it took the music to end. Then, with a breath, the crowd erupted in applause, many of the patrons tossing coins through the air to land at her feet on the little wooden stage.

Alyston nodded her head shyly towards those who would be so gracious with their approval of her music. Escaped tendrils of her white hair softly drifted over blushing cheeks as she bent at the waist to nestle her precious mandolin into its protective case. Still poised in such a manner, she seemed hesitant as the crowd suddenly cried out displeasure at the possibility that she had finished for the evening. Glancing up towards the bar, her opal-like eyes caught sight of the owner who was nodding enthusiastically for her to continue for a little while longer. This night would prove profitable enough for him to pay her for the extra time.

She turned her shy smile once again to the crowd and returned to an upright position on her little stool. When the audience saw she still held the mandolin, they quickly took their seats, sipped their drinks and settled in to listen to the bard.

Alyston had been traveling for a long time, making her living in song and story. Still, to look at her off the stage, one was hard pressed to understand how this timid woman found herself in such a profession. At 5’9”, she was nearly as tall as a man. Her body was slim, but muscular… her face pleasing, but not overly so. In truth, apart from her talent, the only remarkable things one would notice of this 23-year-old woman would be the blue-green opal-like eyes that peered from beneath the fringes of long, shockingly stark white hair. The first thought passing through one’s mind at these sights would be how a woman so young could possess hair such a color.

She had never known a time when her hair wasn’t white. Even during her earliest memories of childhood, she had been cursed with such. She remembered trying to cut it off during one of the more painful moments of teasing by the other children at the children’s home, but one of the sisters there had stopped her. Sister Alesiem had patiently taught Alyston how to brush her hair in such a way as to make it less noticeable. It had been at that time that Aly had taken to wearing her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

She had hoped to become a nun one day. To her, the sisters always seemed so happy. Not a kind of happiness a puppy could bring, her child’s mind reasoned… but one of… Sister Alesiem had provided the words she so desperately sought: “Inner peace”.

It has also been Sister Alesiem who, after hearing the child’s voice during choir, convinced her that she would better serve the gods by spreading their praise through out the lands with her music, rather than being cloistered away. Sister Alesiem knew the girl had a talent far greater than anything the sisters could provide her. It was a natural talent….a talent from the heavens and, as long as the girl stayed within the walls of the children’s home, Sister Alesiem saw to it that talent was fed as much as possible.

Then came the day all this came crashing down. Alyston could never understand…. would never remember what had happened, but when she awoke from sleep, she discovered everyone around her was suddenly terrified of her. Even Sister Alesiem. In their fear, the sisters found they could no longer bear having Alyston within their walls and she was put out with nothing more than the clothes on her back. She had only been 14 at the time.

With time came new people and with new people came new looks of terror. She could never remember what had caused such fear in their faces, but she always knew she had been the reason.

Only the old Bard Yasied had not looked at her with such terror. At age 16, she had been taken in as apprentice to Yasied. The old man’s eyesight had left him several months before and he found he now needed someone to help him from town to town. In return, he would board, clothe and feed the girl and, when he was too sick to perform, she would take his place, though the monies would immediately be given to him.

Although her musical abilities had far surpassed his, he was able to teach her the finer art of story telling. In his words, she was able to lose herself… to feel and see what he spoke of. In time, she too could weave the word. Yasied treated her more like a daughter than she had ever remembered feeling with anyone. A year later, Fate would prove a cruel master once again.

Returning to the caravan from one of her increasingly frequent performances, Aly made a horrible discovery. Yasied lay dead in the clearing where she was to meet him, his possessions…and hers… nowhere to be seen. Again, she was left with nothing but the clothes on her back…. and Yasied’s mandolin which she had been using that night during her performance.

She had woken days later, far from the clearing and with no memory of what had happened during the time. She could remember finding Yasied’s body, but nothing until the time she found herself on a strange bed of branches under a tree.

And thus her life continued. Some days passing through time without her, other days prodding along with her. She could never be certain when it would happen.

“… and the days pass wi’oot nary a thought as you lie in my arms m’darling love.”

Matt posted March 10, 2003 08:09 PM

“I don’t care what you say. Somebody must want it. I still think we can make money off of this”

Voices… In the dark…

“Foolish gambler! They’ll lynch us for this! The last thing we need is to be thought of as dealers of demons!”

Consciousness returns, and with it a wooden planked floor strewn with straw.

“Your letting fear get in the way of money Rehad, and doing that will only get you poor for the rest of your life. You have to take a chance now and again.”

The room is dimly lit by the flickering light of oil lamps. She can see one of them sitting atop a crate not more than seven feet from her.

“To hell with chances! There is a difference between taking chances, and just being stupid! I tell you to just kill it and be done with it! Either you do it yourself or I’ll get the authorities.”

Bars? Why are there bars between Alyston and the lamp? A look around shows she is surrounded by them. A small scuffle and choking can be heard.

“Who put you in charge Rehad? Next time I even think you are planning on going to the guard, I will kill you where you stand. You do well to fear me more than that demon. Besides, do you think the authorities would listen to you? They would blame you and kill you just the same. Death awaits you Rehad, or untold riches. Which do you prefer?”

She shuffled over to the edge of the cage she was in. She had only what she was wearing before…. Before What? What had happened and why was she here? Gasping could now be heard, and somebody drew in heaps of air.

“I’m s..sorry Neilos. I was out of line. *gasp* But surely you see the danger? *cough*”

A door! The cage had a door! With that perhaps freedom. She moved over to it and quietly checked the lock. Rounded in places and made of iron, it was caught on something. She tried to free it up, but only caused it to move too swiftly and clang against the metal of the door.

“Do I look stupid to you? Of course we will be…*Clang* Hmmm seems it is awake.”

From around the corner of stacked crates came two brown skinned fellows with white wrapped around them in the traditional manner of the road merchants of the region. Their faces where slim, and one of them had a mustache whose ends hung low beneath his chin. Other than the one with the mustache being a bit larger than the one without, they were hard to tell apart. Perhaps they were kin. Both had eyes as wide as saucers as they peered into the cage.

“Where did it go!? Oh Neilos we are surely cursed to die this night! It even left us a girl as a cruel joke!” The one bereft of facial hair spoke first.

“No! It is a trick! Don’t you see Rehad? She IS the demon, just trying to trick us into letting her go” Said Neilos.

Alyston could see her Mandolin leaning on a crate behind them now. Funny how situations like this show what is important to you.

“You will fetch us quite a pretty penny, won’t you Demon…” Neilos fondled the bars, careful to watch her every move, in case she leapt at him “Or should I say Demoness?” Neilos said with barely contained glee. He was obviously already counting his money in his head, and had just now set aside an entire lavish estate for his own personal use in his imaginary fantasy world. “Someone out there is willing to pay handsomely for an imprisoned demoness, of that I am sure.”

“Wh….where am I?” Alystons fear and confusion were clear. “What hh…..hhh..happened?” she barely forced the words out as her mind grasped at the situation.

“You are in the care of one Neilos Al Tulion, and my half brother Rehad” Neilos said with an overly dramatic bow.

“It…..it’s….a pleasure to meet you, sirs.” Aly said rather unconvincingly.

“Not at all.” Neilos waved a hand as though shooing a fly away from his turbaned head. “Surely the pleasure is all ours.” His smile was uncomfortably pleasant.

“Why… What am I doing here?”

“You, my dear demoness, will make us both very rich.” Another gold toothed smile greeted her as he indicated the last statement included his bother as well, who in turn smiled the pathetic smile of the non-too-bright.

“I…I don’t understand…”

A moment of confusion crosses Neilos’s face but it passes just as quickly, replaced with a smug, and fake perplexed look. “Isn’t this where you offer us the world on a platter, demoness? Where you ask us to free you in the vain hope you will trick us into freeing you so that you may devour our souls?”

Aly shakes her head, becoming more confused with the flesh traders every word. “Please, I… I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Save your breath. Your tricks will not work on us.” But before Neilos can continue Rehad cuts in. “You mean she will offer us the world?” His eyes overwhelmed with the possibility, as he looks at Alyston’s timid form with undisguised lust.

“No you idiot!, I told you, it is a trick. No sooner would you have made the deal, and she would be tearing your very soul from your stupid frame!.... Or worse!” Nelios yelled for effect. This seemed to sufficiently cow Rehads greed.

Tears formed in Alystons eyes and threatened to fall down her cheeks. “I…have no world… to give you… I.. can only… pay a small ransom…”

“Your tears are truly convincing. If I had not see your true form with my own eyes I would probably be tripping over myself to help this poor tourtured soul.” His mask had changed to that of mock caring. “No matter, soon I will be rich, and you will most likely be bound in service to some devil worshiping magician.”

Aly wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, unable to keep herself from sobbing with fear.

“Oh Rahed, we have finally hit it big!” Neilos rubbed his hands in anticipation like some second rate melodrama actor. “Neilos has outdone himself!”

Through the tears, Alyston quietly asked, then pleaded to be given her mandolin, but Neilos left quickly after he was satisfied his prize was secure, with Rahed close in tow.

In a strange twist of compassion, Rahed returned a few minutes later looking like a beaten puppy. He nervously picked up the mandolin and handed it to Alyston through the bars as he whispered “Don’t eat my soul.” He then left in a hurry.

Alyston posted March 18, 2003 03:04 PM

It had been several days… she wasn’t really sure how long she had been unconscious at the start… but each day from that point on was the same.

Rahed would arrive in the morning with her breakfast, his entrance always greeted by the same haunting music. As she ate (one of the few times in a day that she stopped playing), he would remove the waste bucket from her cage, returning it once it had been emptied and rinsed. When those chores had been completed, he sat on a crate out of her reach and listened silently to her music for hours, slipping away only to bring her dinner or to retreat for the evening. Sometimes, she thought she heard him in the darkness before dawn, though she could never be sure. They never spoke to each other, her music the only sound between them.

She rarely saw Neilos, the other brother, which suited her nicely. When he did come around, however, it was to taunt her, calling her demoness and reminding her she was to be sold. The idea terrified her (though there wasn’t much that didn’t terrify her), and it puzzled her why the brothers constantly referred to her as a demon. Though she couldn’t remember what had brought her to this situation, she was fairly certain being a demon wasn’t it.

She had hoped that the music would give her answers, calling to something within herself that would give her solutions to the blackouts she sometimes had.

Isolation surrounded her, sometimes bringing more comfort than any blanket on a cold night. Her music filled her isolation with enough warmth that the passing days were at least tolerable. Time slipped by in passing monotony.

It was early morning, a fact she could only determine by counting the regular intervals of the meager meal offerings. The morning itself was not any different from the ones previous excepting that a field mouse had made its presence known by scampering across the floor to claim a stray crumb from her dinner of the night before. Its tawny fur glistened in the shafts of frequent light that poured through the slatted wood walls of the warehouse. The brothers had housed her cage among stacked crates that were mostly empty of their long ago held merchandise.

She could hear the brothers talking. Their semi-distant voices held suspended by the vast space and particles of dust floating about in the vaulted storeroom ceiling.

“We can’t let him see her like this!” Neilos hissed. “He will think we are lying, and send word to his masters that we don’t have the demon like we advertised.”

“What are we supposed to do then, Neilos? If we can’t show her to anybody, how do we sell her?” Rahed whined.

“We will be fine. I am sure the actual buyer will have the necessary means to see through her façade. We just need to make sure the actual purchaser comes down personally to inspect the merchandise. A messenger just won’t do.” Neilos’ voice turned calm again, in the way it did when he was sure his ideas and worldview were the correct ones.

“Perhaps if we provoke her into changing?” Rahed asked, obviously hoping for approval.

“What do you suggest Rahed? Do you want to volunteer to enter the cage and provoke her?” Neilos was amused by the prospect. Rahed’s response was too long in coming. “No! You don’t! You stupid waste of flesh… she would rip you apart for your little demonstration.” Alyston heard the footsteps of Neilos retreat to the exit of the warehouse. The doors distinct squeal creak, and slamming sounds were well known to her by now. She was certain that door was now an unmistakable imprinted memory, as wrote as any chord she played on her mandolin. She knew she would be able to determine that exact door in a crowd of a thousand all opening and shutting at the same time.

The little mouse slowly eased its way from its hiding place and back to the food dish, its nose twitching with caution and curiosity. For a brief moment, its black eyes regarded her almost with sympathy, its little ears twitching as if searching for the sounds of her mandolin. Gently, she began to finger the strings, her mind focused on the one audience member who mattered at the moment. For hours, she entertained the little creature as it nibbled on the crumbs from her plate and, for that brief moment in time, she was happy.

Matt posted March 18, 2003 03:09 PM

“What is this?” Hyphernus, pulled the rolled scroll from the messengers hand and began to untie the tidy knot that held it closed.

“It is the list of possible leads that you request every week master.” The messenger kept his face respectfully devoid of emotion. He knew the master accountant of House Brierfaust was not addressing him on a personal level, only as a tool. He was happy for it as well, for those that garner the personal attention of the master usually found themselves in a bad way quickly.

“Is that all? Then why have you deemed it necessary to interrupt me here?” He cast a dangerous glance the messenger’s way as he undid the tie. Where his actions at first had been quick to open the document he now set the scroll down on the table amongst piles of papers and stacks of uncounted coin, to be forgotten under items of more immediate importance..

“I would not have done so master, if Merva had not specifically instructed me to get this to you as soon as possible. She told me to say the Tulion brothers claim to have a demon for sale.” The messenger clipped the words out like a soldier at attention.

“So this is Merva’s doing? Wait outside.” Hyphernus pointed to the door. The messenger turned as a wooden doll, and walked quickly from the room.

The head accountant wondered why this account of a demon being sold, especially by such half-rate thieves as the Tulion brothers, warranted Merva’s undivided attention let alone his own. He trusted her instincts however, and quickly snatched the now partially unrolled scroll back up from the desk to look over its contents.

It was the usual fare of rumors and weak leads that he had seen time and time again for years, all written neatly as a report of actions taken and resolutions had. Year after year this document had proven to be no more than a formality to be filed neatly away in a special cabinet and then sent to his superiors every spring equinox to keep his associates back “home” happy of no loose ends. The organization he represented, was a secretive one. His cover as an accountant for the Brierfaust family worked well for them. Also, they were ALWAYS thorough. This thoroughness usually translated to tedious and meticulous record keeping. Of which he was more than happy to provide, since it meant a quiet job, with security and very, very good pay.

His eyes found the mentioned entry as uninteresting as the rest till he found Merva’s notes on the actions taken to investigate it. Merva was quite thorough too, she did her job well. Hyphernus appreciated her attention to detail, and her unerring instinct to locate “the real deal” among a sea of fakes.

The account was written in a type of short hand, but Hyphernuses’ trained eye and sharp mind easily picked out the whole story from the detailed notes…

In this instance is seems Merva heard word through underworld sources that there was a demon, of all things, for sale to the highest bidder, apparently captured by the Tulion brothers (at great personal risk).

She sent a envoy to check on the story per usual, and he in turn found the Brothers quite unwilling to actually show the “demon” to him until someone of more direct credentials could be summoned in lieu of the envoy. This spoke badly of the chances of the brothers running anything other than a scam like their reputation suggested they were prone to do.

The matter was almost closed when Merva heard rumor that a monster had attacked and killed several men just east of town on the road. She went to the local guard and asked about the incident. Apparently the men killed were brigands of the worst sort, so the local law cared little for the matter and decided the word of one addled woodsman, who professed to have been startled awake to witness the whole horrid event with his own eyes from inside a leaf covered lean-to he had built for shelter the night before, did little to convince them the story had any merit. They wrote it off as a wild animal attack and shelved the case for later investigation should there prove to be further incidents.

The connection came when Merva questioned the woodsman herself, not trusting the local law to be thorough about anything, especially when it came to the sort of information she was looking for. The woodsman turned out to be more than willing to tell the tale for the price of a drink, in fact he had been doing so ever since the event, and the local drinking hall owner sorely wanted him to stop as he had started to annoy people with his hundredth telling.

He went on about how the monster had moved off a short ways after the carnage, found a secluded grove, and proceeded to enact a strange blood ritual (using the nearby bodies as a source for the blood) that ended in it going into a deep trance. The woodsman soon found they were not alone after all, as two men seemed to have heard the brigands being slain and came around to investigate. He spoke about how one of the men yelled out in terror at the surprising site of the monster merely sitting in a bloody trance, and how the braver (or more foolish) of the duo then approached the creature, emboldened by the lack of reaction from the “sleeping” monster, and found it quite unresponsive. After a heated argument in a language the woodsman did not understand, the two men ran off, only to return shortly with a cart and tarp, to which they secured the demon and left with it into town, something he didn’t have a chance to tell the local authorities due to their rather uninspired line of questioning. A few more prompts from Merva and the woodsman described the two men as dark skinned and wrapped in traders’ garb. The kicker came with the description of what the monster looked like…

Hyphernus Malcante’ rolled the paper back up and habitually secured it closed with the thread again. His long fingernails tapped the lacquered desk rhythmically as he pondered this recent development. Odds were against this being the end to his long hunt, but he knew the price for failure should this later turn out to be something more.

His decision made, he pulled out another parchment and began to write out a letter of his own. It simply and clearly stated:

“Kill the Tulion brothers quietly. Bring their “demon” discretely to my boat on the river, for my immediate inspection.”

He closed this one with melted wax, and impressed his personal seal on it. A seal that would be unrecognized save to a select few.

“Messenger boy! Come here!” The messenger appeared on command.

“Bring this to Merva, and stop for no one.”

Alyston posted March 19, 2003 12:12 PM

She awoke suddenly to a hand brutally placed across her mouth, the weight of a body crushing her against the wooden floor. Chapped lips abraded the soft skin of her neck as his free hand sought the flesh beneath the folds of her skirts. Like his lips, his hands were calloused and rough … the hands of a man well accustomed to work. “You’re so beautiful.”

For a week and a half Rahed had watched her, taken care of her. Her music had been the sweetest sound he had ever heard in his short 18 years and he found that with each passing day, he had become more and more enchanted by her. Still, he feared her as well. He wasn’t as sure as Neilos that she was the demon they had captured … but his brother was rarely wrong.

She tried to scream, but he only clamped his hand tighter over her mouth, pressing her own teeth into the tender flesh of her lips. “Shhhh, my darling. Neilos will hear.” He had succeeded in moving her skirts to her waist, ripping all material that did not give to his will. With a knee covered in scratchy wool, he parted her thighs and, for a moment, his free hand left her body to fumble with the catch of his pants.

It was then that the dizziness overtook her. He must have sensed something was wrong. For a moment, he didn’t move. It was as if time stood still. Suddenly he threw himself from her body, scrambling for the door of the cage as a beast-like growl echoed off the crates surrounding them. Although panicked, he had the presence of mind…. or perhaps a significant fear of his brother… to slam the cage door closed behind him. The soft “click” of the lock closing was drowned out by his screams of pain as razor-like claws shred the flesh of his chest.

Scuttling backwards, he somehow managed to find the route through the crates and made his escape as the large white were-tiger threw herself repeatedly against the sturdy iron bars. Her strength was tremendous and, under the onslaught of her rage, the bars began to bend ever so slightly.

The cage had been made to house a small dragon, its durability insured to contain such a beast. However, while a caged dragon’s rage could be fierce, it did not compare to the creature currently locked within. The bars of the cage had held, but only barely. The iron rods in many places bent as a strung bow … the hinges to the door mangled like crumpled paper.

Within time, however, she would vent her rage and, yet another form would immerge from the woman held captive. In this next transformation, her body doubled in size (though it retained the same cosmetic white were-tiger appearance) and, from her back, massive feathered wings grew.

An eerie calm overcame her as she settled her massive body into a more comfortable position, wings folded tightly against her back. She appeared to be meditating, rocking slightly as a low level hum wafted around the room. Eyes closed, her movements were deliberate as she reached through the mangled bars and dipped a claw in a small pool of Rahed’s blood. The humming and rocking grew as she began to etch small patterns into the wooden floor of her cage. She paused often to return to the blood, using it to highlight the deep carvings of the mysterious symbols she spent the rest of the night carving.

By dawn, however, the woman had returned. She slept deeply, though fitfully as if beset by nightmares. It would take Neilos prodding her repeatedly through the bars with a long broom handle to eventually wake her… even then, she would remain groggy throughout the rest of the day.

Shanley posted April 09, 2003 12:13 AM

Shanley shook his oilskin cloak as he crossed the threshold of the inn and rivulets of water cascaded to the ground around his feet, washing away some of the mud caked over his boots. Outside, the rain that had continued all week flowed over the muddy wreck the locals had called a road. Now it was a river and it made a mess of anyone that tried to cross it.

The inn was empty at this time of day. It was early afternoon, too late for the noon meal and too early for the drinkers that would fill this space later in the evening if the rain didn’t keep them at home. In the middle of the room, a small group of four farmers smoked their pipes and lamented the rain that was even now destroying their crops as they sipped at their ale. Shanley scraped as much of the mud from his boots as he could before he came all the way in.

He let his hood fall around his shoulders and pushed his hands over his scalp, squeezing as much water from his hair as he could. The farmers glanced at him as he passed their table but returned to their conversation quickly enough. One of them, a bald man with a scar on his forearm, ventured so far as to nod in his direction. Shanley nodded back.

His face was not unknown in these parts although it wasn’t always linked to a name. He didn’t usually stay long enough to make friends.

Dyaln was a midsize town with no suburbs. There were maybe three thousand people here. Once outside the walls of the town you were walking through farmland. It was a frontier town, a trading post, and a farmer’s market. Dyaln was the gateway to the east and the rich lands that lay across the wilderness between.

“What can I do for you, Wyldsman?” The innkeeper put his hands on the counter and leaned on it in the manner of bartenders everywhere. They were interchangeable really, innkeepers. They might be fat or thin, mustached or clean-shaven, hairy or bald, but they were by and large the same man. This one happened to wear wire rimmed spectacles and a towel over one shoulder.

The innkeeper had named him true. Wyldsman was not Shanley’s name but his profession, and Shanley fit his archetype well. Rangers were not common in this part of the land, but wyldsmen were. These were men who made their living escorting the many caravans crossing the wilderness from here to the trading towns in the east and back. The road to the eastern towns was not reliable. Many strong rivers crisscrossed the land and bridges were washed away within a few short years of being built. The very land changed its shape from season to season and the traders, who often made the trip only once a year, had need of guides. They looked to men like Shanley to procure guards and supplies and to protect them on the road and anticipate their needs. Many of the traders who passed this way only made the trip once a year and they were not experienced in such maters. Shanley was.

“I was here a week and a half ago and you had a song singer.”

“A week and a half? That’s a long time for your kind to hang around, isn’t it?”

“The rain,” Shanley said. “My employers are unwilling to move until it lets up.”

The innkeeper nodded his understanding. “There was a girl but she didn’t show up after that first night. And I gave her an advance to work the whole week.”

“A shame,” Shanley said. “I was asked to secure an entertainer for the journey east. Have you any idea where she might have gone?”

“I wish I could help you, Wyldsman. Like I said, she owes me money. You might try asking the guards. Maybe if more than one person asks they’ll get off their asses and start looking, eh? They haven’t done much to act on my complaint anyway.”

Shanley left the inn with his scowl hiding underneath the hood of his cloak. In point of fact he had asked the guards. They enforced the tariffs on goods entering and leaving the town and as a result they knew the comings and goings of everyone. The girl had arrived only a day before he had and she hadn’t left yet. It was just a mater of finding her.

Matt posted June 25, 2005 07:27 PM

Blistering winds filled with dusting snow flew past an exposed cheek and promised to freeze it solid. The man, whose cheek it was, stepped heavily over the rock and ice as his hand made a weak motion to cover the hole in his defenses. He was already covered completely by overly thick garments sewn together from all manner of different colored cloth that hung about him in travel frayed disarray. He finally managed to push the open hole closed, leaving him once again no more than a vaguely human figure trudging across a ridge in the high mountains.

As his ascent brought him to the nearest ridge, rocks pealed away under his boots, and sent him sprawling down the mountain top slope to land in a heap in a cup of packed snow. Once again, the hand shot out of the folds of cloth and pushed and pulled till he was standing upright. His eyes could not be seen as he peered through polished turtle-glass at the ground he had lost to the fall. Seeing nothing but vacant space between him and the ridge, he began the slow plod back.

His cleansing was nearly complete. He could see his goal in site after far too many miles in this pitiless waste. The top of the mountain stood perfect and gleaming in the sky, and only awaited his final steps. Deciding another fall was going to cost him more than loosing a bit of warmth, he unfolded his other arm to help in the last. A good thing too, for it was only moments after he took hold of the ridge-top in bundled fingers that a shock sliced through his mind, leaving him numb and stupefied.

He lay still and steady for the moment to pass, and then searched his thoughts to make sure the signal was what he thought it was. Once convinced of the origin of the sudden assault, his blood grew colder than the ice around him, and he hastened to scramble to the peak. As he stood on the top of the mountain and surveyed the majesty around him, he thought to himself: *at least I was able to see this before I had to leave*.

The worn garments of his back tore and ruptured outward to reveal wings as white as the ice, stretching outward to either side of the man. It was obvious; these wings could not have fit beneath the wrappings no matter how expertly folded. It was as if they came from nowhere. Indeed they had, and after one more glance around to burn this site in his memory, he spread his nowhere-wings and was pulled off the mountain by the cold windy gusts of the roiling air. ******

Neilos considered himself lucky to have found a prospective buyer so early in the game. It had only been five days since he gave out notice through the network and already he had a serious bite. But he was not so much a fool that he would not take precautions. The sort of men he dealt with in this sort of business were just as likely to take what they wanted than pay. So he left his brother Rehad to mind the warehouse as he stole away to the pre-arranged meeting spot with the knowledge that whoever it was, would need to know where he kept the demon before they could attempt to steal it from him.

It was to his surprise when it was a mercenary woman that greeted him at the crossroads and not a scribe-toady of the wizardly variety. She got strait to the point:

"You are Neilos"?

A short bow "Yes lady..?" He left the question of her name hanging politely.

"You will not need to know my name. Where are you keeping the demon?" The question was asked with such blatant authority that Neilos almost answered her directly.

"I wouldn't have much to bargain with if I told you that. Suffice to say it is under the watchful eye of my partner in a safe location. Shall we discuss money?" A hopeful lilt at that last.

"We will discuss nothing, and you have nothing to bargain with." The mercs hand came up in signal, and an ugly short humanoid with knobby joints and rubbery folds of skin lurched from beneath the ground just to the side of the road. It was as thought the earth boiled for a moment and then spat out a sickness. The skin folds covered any eyes it might have had as well as any other discernable body feature, other than disproportionately long arms and legs with fingers to match. It gave the strange impression of being a bloated spider.

"You kill me and my brother is instructed to kill it if I do not return by this evening!" His fear was showing as much as his ignorance of what was about to happen. He did not expect to face more demons!

"Then we will just have to finish this before the evening is through, now won't we?" The grey creature ran at Neilos, who ran away in turn. He was caught before he was able to take more than ten steps as the creature loped and then barreled into his back and sent him sprawling to the ground. It quickly seized his head and clamped its fingers around the back of his skull. Then it began to squeeze as Nielos thrashed about in panic.

"That creature on your back is a vaugwraith. You don't want to know where it comes from. All vaugwraiths are in a constant state of pain." as she spoke the creatures fingers bored through Neilos?s skull and into the soft matter of his brain, leaving only a bit of blood and fluid to seep around them.

"Guaghuu!!" was all the articulation Nielos could muster, Last words indeed.

"The only way they can be rid of that pain, even for a moment, is to forget about it. It does this by stealing the memories of its victims and for a moment, forgetting its own miserable existence." the woman said.

The Tulion brothers eyes rolled and his mouth began to slobber spittle as his thoughts seeped away. Merva the mercenary walked to his body and pulled the vacant staring head back out of the grass it had slumped in with disgust.

"So it seems even the lowly thoughts of scum like you have their uses for something, eh?" She practically threw his bloody head back into the dirt a she stood to face the now gibbering vaugwraith.

"Tell me where the demon is hidden"

In a voice eerily like that of the late Neilos, it said "In a warehouse with boar markings on the side, down by the river. In a cage made of thick iron. My brother has the key!"

She had lost time again. One moment she remembered playing for the quiet one and the next she woke in the bottom of the cage, her clothing in disarray, mandolin lying forgotten in a corner. Sighing heavily, she retrieved the instrument and made no attempt at trying to bring the memories of those lost moments to the surface. She knew it would be a wasted attempt as it had been so many times before.

She would never know how much time had past between memories… she rarely gained that form of information… yet she could tell by the shadows left by the bars on the window high in the wall that it was early eve. As much as in need of something to do as for the comfort, she began to softly strum the strings of the mandolin, pulling the music from wood and fiber as if by magic.

Songs drifted from one to the next, the woman never really conscious of the transformations as she let it carry her mind to a different world. The place was one she knew well despite the inability to see more than a misty haze of shapes. Most times she considered it home, though, in truth, she had never physically been in such a land. She had resigned herself long ago to the thoughts that the strange world was nothing more than her own dreams and imagination but still, she grew comfort from it upon waking from her time-loss.

Unknowingly, the music again transformed itself to a song the one she had played for so many times seemed to appreciate. As the melody flit around the room, she wished for his quiet presence. Though he rarely spoke, she found companionship in his silence.

Mid-strum, she heard the door open and, as if he heard her wish, he appeared before her, staring through the bars as if in a trance. She frowned at the sight of him, an odd form of dread coursing though her body causing her to wonder what had happened during her more recent blackout.

His clothes were torn and bloody, but he seemed not to notice. He took a shuffling step forward and the dread blossomed into fear. Inadvertently, she glanced at his feet and noticed for the first time the symbols carved into the wood that had been partially covered by a leather-clad foot. The symbols were extensive and had been painted in the color of blood. Again she wondered for a brief moment when they had been placed there.

The rattling of keys drew her attention upwards once again. With deft movements, the cage door had been unlocked and he was motioning her out. She hesitated, unsure if this was a cruel joke or if he had truly intended to release her.

He couldn’t help but see her hesitation and, in his trance, he understood it. Stepping away from the cage door, he simply said, “Before they come.” Those three words prompted her to action and, crawling from the cage, she ran, skirts flying, for the door.

Barging through, she stopped in the twilight to get her bearings. Desperation flooded through her and, turning, she ran blindly down a side alley and far from the place that had been her prison for nearly a week. 