The Island of Thain
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  • Ellisandro
    Ellisandro  38 mins ago

    But you can only know FOIG doesn’t exist by FOIG thus proving its existence.

  • Thranduil Greenleaf
    Thranduil Greenleaf  47 mins ago

    FOIG is a lie.

  • Ellisandro
    Ellisandro  1 hour ago

    I'd like to say FOIG!

  • Dizzy-D2
    Dizzy-D2  5 hours ago

    Anyone else having issue with Trusty storage?

  • FlowerGolem
    FlowerGolem  17 hours ago

    Please someone casts "Raise dead" on the server. wink

  • wisdombeyondages
    wisdombeyondages  17 hours ago

    Unfortunately due to some unexpected RL events I won't be able to host Loreseekers tonight! We will be getting together again next Sunday after NN

  • Cuchuwyn
    Cuchuwyn  22 hours ago

    There will be a nature night in a little over 3 hours from this post! Hope to see you there!

  • Kat
    Kat  1 day ago

    Since the rework I am finding forums are very slow to load pages.

  • TheSiteMaster
    TheSiteMaster  1 day ago

    Given the many other fixes and features we need that one is pretty low priority. I've gotten a lot of feedback that the hours ago is useful for event alerts.

    Not saying we won't do it, but other things come first since formatting the chatbox easily is already difficult.

  • wisdombeyondages
    wisdombeyondages  1 day ago

    could we get a date stamp for chatbox? not just an "hours ago"?

LAN_402 LAN_403
1:58:49 am GMT 03/13/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
“How was it?” A woman asked, as she found a seat amongst peers at a table. Around them, music echoed throughout the tavern hall, mixed with laughter and playful screams. Deayn studied Liv as she settled into her seat, her brother Reynold at her left, and her sister-in-law Cayrn at her right. Oscar, their lute player, had gone to bed earlier than the rest. He was not one to drink, she supposed, because he had yet to join them at a table. “Better than the first night.” She looked back at Liv, giving her an encouraging nod. “We brought in around 1,000 shillings to donate to the orphans.”

The Joyweather Band had brought the Opera House in the city of Steinkreis alive. Dusting off the stage, literally, Deayn had prepared for her old friends to come and bring happiness and self-love to the island of Thain. It felt good to see one of her pieces of work come alive again. It felt good for it to be "mostly" well recepted.

“Yah!” Liv lifted her drink towards the center of the table, and the others followed. Clanking their mugs together, the artists all brought their drinks back for a proper chug. “Mmm.” Deayn wiped her mouth, sitting her drink down. “I’m glad you all were able to make it. I’m going to be honest.” She paused, looking around the table at the familiar faces, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Reynold was the first to make a remark. The young man sneered. “You should know by now Ima-” He paused, considering his words, “Deayn.” He corrected himself. “We grew up together, you know. You, Liv, and me. You have to give us some more credit. We know better than to believe Xoren’s manipulation.” Liv nodded her head in agreement with her little brother.. “He’s right, darling. You know we have stood behind you through this. You didn’t have to leave, love.”

“Aish, but I did.” Deayn shifted in her chair, bringing her mug to her lips. She took a long pull from the alcoholic drink, praying to whatever God or Goddess listening that they’d allow her to forget this conversation already. “Xoren was the greatest actor I’d ever bore witness too. He was able to stay in-character for five years, not once breaking his act in love, humility, and kindness. Once he had what he wanted; abeoji dead, his legacy, and all of my work and soul--he showed his true face. The masquerade ended. The curtain called.”

Liv tsked her tongue, the same way that Deayn occasionally does. Reynold sat in silence, looking at his wife Cayrn with anger-infused eyes. Cayrn centered her own eyes on her husband, silencing him and keeping him at bay. “What, you do not remember it that way?” The Koyoran woman shook her head. “He was the most charismatic man I’d ever met, and you all should remember that well, too. Even all of you were fooled. The only one who was never fooled was abeoji. Well, we know how that ended..”

Liv regretted nodding her head in agreement, but she did anyways. “This still doesn’t explain why you felt like you couldn’t come home, love? Why didn’t you just come home..?

Deayn looked down at the table, but no words came. She had asked herself the same question. How can she explain the call, the call of her muse, to come to a foreign land. She had very little to her name, and even that she no longer had, but yet she took what coin she could find and took a boat--a boat to this foreign island. Was a part of her running? Was she escaping? Why did her muse lead her to this place?

"I don't know." She answered, truthfully.

“I am here for a reason. I just don’t know it.. yet.”

Page 1.
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4:34:00 am GMT 03/19/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
Journal Entry 1: First Choice.

I have become transfixed by one single word. Books are open around me, parchments inked with subject notes are scattered too. I cannot seem to focus on my work. Yet, I find myself picking up this blank book of parchment instead. My innermost muse calls to me. It tells me to write, but I'm not sure where to begin. Should I make this into a journal? Should I divulge all my inner secrets, my memories, and my innermost feelings? Why not. Perhaps one day, someone will want to know my truth.

Choice. I have heard this word many times in the past few days. I’m starting to believe that divine direction is showing itself, but who am I to even begin to decipher it. Leave it to a celestial being to stir my inner muse. I am forever lost in my own head, now. Commission be damned, I'm at a crossroads with my own personal pathway.

Over the course of my lifetime, I cannot tell you just how many choices I have made. I have reaped reward and consequence from them all. However, there are a few considerable choices that stand out above the rest that I have made here recently.

The first choice would be Deayn.

It is an unfamiliar name, even though I have used it well for so long. It is not that I’m scared of revealing who I am; I do not hide abeoji and who he was. If there were any on this island who once shopped in Cormyrian instruments, they would know the proudly renowned Lau Mi Wen. They would know the daughter, who once held high prestige as an artist, had disappeared. They would know of the poor son-in-law, Xoren Peralis, who inherited Wen's legacy after a rumored affair.

They’d figure it out.

Xoren’s deceitful rumors left a scar there. I don’t bother to see how long and far his rumor spread. Standing in front of a crowd, of whom I thought were friends, bruised and shaken from his toils of violence was enough. They had laughed and spit at me. They’d told me I was ungrateful for what he’d given me. Drunken half-truths poured out of them, their mind weakened to his embellished lies. They told me to join my father in death.

Trust me. I’d thought about it. I don’t know how I couldn’t after my head was slammed through a standing mirror; how my body twisted into a b-.... That's enough of that. Perhaps, if I do make this into a journal, I'll talk more about Xoren's ways of love.

Let him have that girl. Let him have her fame. Deayn, while still influenced by her painful memories, doesn’t sting as much as my birth-given name. Everytime I think of it, I hear Xoren’s voice; both loving and cruel. Everytime I close my eyes, abeoji delights in calling that name. Both bring waves of pain. Both bring waves of happiness.

It's cruel how that works.

That girl is not who sits here now, the woman who pours herself into her work. I had forgotten what a journal felt like. I had forgotten what it meant to write my own story, my own page. This woman is different. She smiles, she laughs, and she sings. She determines who she is, by her own stipulation; not of a man. She prays, as her abeoji taught her, but she chooses the path and consequence of her own actions.

These are now Deayn's choices.

Fame does not lead her. Love does not lead her. Fear does not lead her. Stories do. Stories of the celestials and the damned. Stories of the broken and the ordinary. She speaks of her past; hidden in poems, sung into lyrics, and written into new truths. She connects with souls, pulling out their emotions and penning them into songs.

She’s better than that broken girl could ever have been. Let him use that girl's work. Let him use that girl's naivety and childish memories. May he gain fame and fortune, embellished on a child's dream.

Deayn, the storyteller, may not be who I once was; but she is whom I am becoming.

She has new dreams. She has new goals.

She has more choices then that damn girl ever did.

..and there she does hide,
covering both her ears tight.
For the word you may say,
chance an emotional fight.

So she whispers a lie,
perhaps one more, or two.
If it causes her healing,
what bad can it do?

Page 2.

[ LAN_29 4:39:40 am GMT 03/19/20 ]
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7:41:05 pm GMT 03/25/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
Journal Entry 2: Second Choice.

It is not as if I am portraying a character in an act. In truth, the only lie I tell is of name. I have since read that in some cultures a new name is bestowed upon those who are born-again. Deayn is my rebirth.

It is the same for my muse. I feel as though it has changed since this renewal. It once encouraged me to Xoren and to that of self-desire and passion. Lust. Romance. The many works of the old me; those of idolcy and naive desires.

Now, it is cautious. It is almost as if it is testing that around me; fueling my artistic inspiration on the oddest of things. It leads me places, on adventures and to people. It is more alive here. It has a sense of humor now; it likes to be amused, to feel joy and humor.

It also searches people; feeding from what it senses inside someone’s soul. I feel happiness, sadness, fear, and confusion. I have felt many emotions, not of my own. It has led to many of my works. And then, after I write, it wants me to distance myself. I feel it is afraid to know much more, or for me to get hurt again.

The more I know someone, the more I feel a desire to help, to be present, and to pick a side. That is the bit of my abeoji that is still within me; a man who did everything he could to please those he cared about and loved.

But, I refuse to fight my muse, so I stay at a distance. My heart is not leading my path. My muse has given me more now in my ability than ever. I cannot defy it.

We’ve grown so much together.

So, our choice, together, is restoring this land with music and the arts. To tell the truth of the land, the hero’s and the villains in the stories. There are many who sing for the dead here, but who still sings for the living?

It may not do much, in regards to war and the state of this island, but I was not born to be on a battlefield.

And as I sit here, in the darkness of the opera house, I can imagine it. The dead are gone, and the audience has made this place full. There is greenery, and lights; curtains and instruments. There is.. a piano, dark in color, with brilliant alabaster keys. Artists of all caliber, from all over, wishing to play in the House of Wen.

Our choice has become our goal. My abeoji’s legacy can live on, the arts can breathe some life into Thain again.

This place needs to be reborn.

Into the waters the maiden falls,
and she sheds all her sorrows and fears.
When she rises, a new breath is given.
A new dawning, a new life, she now nears.

Page 3.
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7:20:17 pm GMT 04/11/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
Not today, and not yesterday, but a day not long ago...

[ image disabled ]

“Mm.” Alone in her thoughts, Deayn looked around a room. It was dark, quiet, and peaceful. Greenery twined around the banisters of the large bed, twisting into beautiful artwork of its own. The bed was adorned with comfortable bedding, all spun from a spider into silks. It was not home, and it was not safe, but she did not feel uncomfortable here. If anything, the bookshelf on the wall called to her, asking her to stay and read awhile. If she were not so tired, she would have gratefully obliged.

Her eyes scanned the walls, looking for signs of the babies; the broodlings that dip in and out of sight. She was sure they were there, somewhere, even if her eyes were unable to find them. They would report back to their master what they were to learn--as their hearing was good, and so their sight. She did not want to give them anything to question, even though she wanted to release herself in tears; aggravated by an emotional unbalance.

The day had not been kind, and the evening far worse.

She looked down at her outfit. It had been soaked in sweat from exerting all of her energy to run. Run as fast as they both could back into the Watch. They had raced the sun to make it in time, Lauren pushing for every minute and second, she could. Deayn had wanted to take her home, a lot earlier than what transpired, but things just did not seem to work out that way.

Lauren found her muse and sang her song.
Lord Korander showed his heart, where as...
The phantom had broken the songstress’.
and Kallista had found them.

There was a part of Deayn that was happy that Lauren had stayed for so long. There was a far greater part of Deayn that was terrified of the consequence that had arisen. That fear stemmed from who she used to be, and what her heart was telling her.

For once, it was not Lady D’Mora that sent the trickles of fear into the songstresses’ heart. She would deserve such consequences that were to come from the one they call “witch”. The fear that intimidated the songstress was because of emotion; one that had overwhelmed her, stirring her heart and scaring her muse. It was one that she’d been fighting, her muse pushing her far away from.

No, no, no. She shook her head. The songstress rolled her shoulders, hissing a sigh into the dark space above her. This isn’t supposed to be happening. She had a plan. They had a plan. This was not a part...

It was funny, to the songstress, that such purity was held at the hands of the one everyone thought most evil. She was evil, this was true, but there was more to her. More to saengjonja that most know. Her heart would not be twisted if it were so easy. God’s do not play into mortal hands, so sweetly. The move she made next could come with dire consequences, and she knew well enough not to trust a single living soul to seek out advice.

Crawling underneath the sheets, the bard closed her eyes and spoke to the spirit that lingered in her dreams. The living, she could never trust with this, but the part of him inside her, she could. The part of him that she’d pushed down, so deep inside. She found there, that night, in her dreams. “What do I do, appa..? What do I do?”


Morning came, and all was quiet. She rose from her slumber, forgetting where she was for just a brief moment. When memory arrived, she released a soft curse. Not even fear kept her from a restful night.

She stepped outside of the room, still dressed in the dirty clothes from yesterday, her white pelt crooked on her shoulders, and her bag tucked inward at her side. A wyvern stood guard, and the songstress smiled at it. It let her leave, and it did not impose her stay.

As she left, her dreams came to mind...

To do this, and to deliver her truth, she would have to drain herself of all other emotions first. The next few days, weeks, they would not be kind. Her emotions would swarm, and she would file out her sadness, anger, and pain. Her muse would fight. And even though her choice was to originally follow only her muse, this island’s talons had sunk into the songstress now.

Abeoji was right. It was dangerous, this plan she was forming, but it may very well work.

If not, it would indeed become her closing act..
junbi hal ttae

[ LAN_29 7:24:09 pm GMT 04/11/20 ]
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11:17:01 pm GMT 05/08/20
Level 10
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Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
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Another Sleepless Night

[ image disabled ]


The songstress sat in her dim-lit room fiddling with the strings of an instrument. Her mind was scattered, jumbled. She could not control where it went, or what she would focus on next. “This isn’t right.” She gave up, sitting the instrument on the ground. She had procrastinated long enough, and her memory was giving up--up on a part of her teachings. This was unusual for her--she knew how to string an instrument. She'd been doing it since she could remember. “Something isn’t right..”.

The stage below, that was alive just a few nights ago, was now dead again to the city. The play, the tragedy, that the Laughing Skulls brought to this place had sparked hope in the songstress. The room was full, and not a single eye had left the stage that evening. Mors was an exceptional artist. Morton, his friend, was odd--but they had created a masterpiece. She was thankful for them, and tried as she might, could not find a suitable boon to offer in appreciation.

On the topic of gifts, though, her sapphire eyes scanned the small room until they fell upon a brown chest with golden latches. She idly played with her necklace staring at the chest, timid as she watched it, as though a ghost were to pop out of it. Her last song, indeed, did not become her last, and she was gifted with this extraordinary thing. This unnerving.. thing.


Inside, a violin, the last of her father’s legacy. It was old, and the benefactor had been kind enough to refurbish it to standard--but she’d. . . made adjustments to it, as well. It was polished, pristine, a piece of her abeoji that could never be taken from her now…

She didn’t deserve it. She would not touch it.

“Aish! I'm going mad!” Her hands came up, rubbing over her face. Her eyes closed, she sat at the edge of her bed. She didn’t deserve a lot of things--especially the apprentice that had just been sent home. Lady Nicolette was, well, her own kind. Her first visit had gone well enough, and the girl had found her instrument. As much as she wanted to smile at that, though, Deayn found herself frowning. Trouble was brewing if she were not careful. Terms of their agreement, well, had already been broken. The girl had also been scared, scared by a man that the songstress had come to care about as a friend. She was fearful of the next visit, and steps were needed to be taken in case a situation were to arise, but she was ultimately thankful for the girl and her love of the arts..

...and love, well, that was a difficult topic. Many think it wise to tell the songstress to date again, while other discussions with a certain survivor had made her curious how Xoren’s manipulation and deceit were dragging her abeoji’s legacy into the ground. She’d thought to leave the island and see for herself, but it was the first she’d listened to her muse in a long while--NO. It screamed no, as if it knew something she did not. Perhaps, it was to keep her safe--but Deayn had to know. So, she hired an agent to look into things. He had a job for her too, so it was a payment for payment. It--put her in a delicate position, that was true. He’d find out her true identity, but.. His contracts were his bond, and his mouth was as tight lipped as they came. How could she even consider another man? She had to know just how much she screwed everything up with what her abeoji had left..

“Aish..” She turned, laying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind would not stop racing!

Screwing things up, well--that’s an easy thing for her to do lately. She often finds herself the House would be in better hands of someone more serious with numbers. When Lady Nicolette had handed her the budgeting ledger on renovations, counting the continuing zeros had made her sick. She knew it was going to be costly. It was in the highest marketable area of the city, where estates cost fortunes. The foundation, from previous attacks, was not stable. The renovations to make the place--up to par, well.. They were costly too, but this was her chance..

Chances. The phoenix had given her that chance at revival. He had come--he did exist. The phoenix she’d written a song about, Atreyu, was on the island. Her muse had been right, all along, and it was as if Tymora herself had heard the songstress’ pleas. A symbol that she’d been waiting for arrived. Reborn. Revived. Renewed. The arts would rise, and her smile would be genuine--her laughter, real.

It would all be worth it. Would all....

“Still, something isn’t right..” She said, as she looked around the dim-lit room--as if awaiting an inevitable doom she could not see..

Somewhere, far away, a song plays in the darkness of the night..

Hide me away, darling.
Bring me out to play, at night.
Your mind is my ammunition.
My plan is coming to fruition.

Soon, very soon..
We'll play again..

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1:06:39 am GMT 05/13/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
Sleep Tight

[ image disabled ]

“How long has it been since you've slept?”

She looked up at the question, considering. He seemed to care; his expression was concerned, genuine. She offered a smile, reassuring the man it wasn't anything to worry about.

She was trying hard to convince herself as much.

For eight nights now, a hidden figure had called out to her in her sleep--the voice familiar enough to cause the hair on the back of her neck to rise. She was frightened. She hadn't heard back yet from the informant. She knew the trip to Cormyr would take time--but she was already aware that something wasn't right.

Had she sent a man to his grave?

Had he found her?

What had happened?

The man beside her was trying to tell her his story--but her eyes started to lull shut, and she rubbed at her eyes with curses stringing together in a slew. I can't do this much longer, she thought to herself. There has to be something..

Later that evening, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a drug. Drugs were not uncommon for struggling artists, and Xoren was known to use them from time-to-time. She'd dabbled, before, but... she was cautious, overly perhaps.

The evening... had been a sad one. A friend had died, and another... Ugh.. She had to get her head on straight around some people.

When she arrived back at the Opera House, she crept up the stairs, stained tears still damp on her cheeks. Her prayers muttered pleads to the Gods. I just want to sleep, one night, without him--please. In her room, she locked the door behind her, and made her way to the bed.

[ image disabled ]

When she awoke the next afternoon, having slept well past twelve hours, the bard rose as if a new breath had entered her lungs. She had slept, but her dreams---were not that of him, but another. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she curled her fists into the bedsheets.

"I knew it."

[ LAN_29 1:08:52 am GMT 05/13/20 ]
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12:51:32 am GMT 05/17/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
The Bear and the Witch

[ image disabled ]
A single piece of parchment is tucked into Deayn's journal. It is not labeled as her usual songs, as this is not a song---but a retelling of a tale.

The white winters fell,
and Blood covered snow.
Twisted dark shadows,
a witch's wrath grow.

I stand between two,
unsure what to do..
Death be upon one,
Vengence dealt in my view.

I care too much for both,
chained by emotion inside me.
What is this I'm feeling?
Is it love? No. cannot be.


There, I still did plead..
with my eyes tightly shut..
Tears pool my eyes,
"Speak up, just speak up!"

I whisper upon the winds,
"not to do this--"Not today.."
Silence meets my broken call,
A hand to my cheek, it's okay...

When I look, there is one...
On the ground, bleeding out.
The man, he is wounded..
His death prolonged, I do not doubt.

What chapter am I entering?
What path does this choice lead?

The Bear and the Witch
In the end, who will succeed?

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Rodgr Thunderguts
5:04:22 pm GMT 05/22/20
Rodgr Thunderguts
Level 7
Registered Member #1050
Joined: 7:35:50 am GMT 05/11/07
: Behind you.
Posts: 334
A contract for the Bard.

His contact was as he remembered, plain, familiar, yet not, like him she was easy to forget. She gave him a piece of paper, he handed her a bag of rubies, a small price for what she had done for him in the past really. The paper crumbled to dust once he had read the contents. It seemed Lau Mei Wen’s daughter’s legacy though in tatters, was still remembered by those who chose to recall it. Time has a way of moving on and leaving some behind whether for good or ill, history was written by the victors he thought.

His first place to visit would be the Wen’s family mausoleum. Her father was somehow key to this, how he was not sure, but he knew there was something missing, something he either wasn’t being told or could not pry loose.

Vincent paid the groundskeeper some gold, it seemed even with all the rules in Cormyr, everyone had a price. Hopping over the wall like a cat, he stared at the disarray. Weeds up to his waist, the occasional bush overgrown, one even hanging a fair sized wasps nest. Clearly the family inheritance was more important than those who had made Xoren as wealthy as he had become at Imarins cost. Brushing his hand along the polished stone, the years of accumulated dirt fell leaving a streak where he touched. Care was not high on the list it seemed. The lock was complex, well made, yet every lock had a key and Vincent knew how to pop this one easily. The door did not creak the expensive greased hinges holding after years of neglect as the door opened spilling light inside.

Lau’s sarcophagus was expensive, yet relatively plain, a sign of good taste and prudence, why waste coin on the dead perhaps? Maybe it was how a General thought? Prying open the container Vince raised a brow, empty? That did not make sense, he was surely dead, everything confirmed it. Natural causes the healer had said when asked in the City, he blamed the daughter, said something derogatory. It seemed even Xoren’s word had influenced the medicae such was his reach?

Placing it back carefully, he spent the next hour or so searching to make sure he missed nothing, not even ashes remained of him, someone would have had to have seen the body, but after perhaps before the lid was sealed, he wondered if the body was even taken care of?

The door closed and he locked it, the tumblers clicking exactly where he found them. Mid-day he thought, time to find Xoren, or at least a clue to his whereabouts. Loose lips are usually found in bars, or fighting halls where alcohol and bravado can spill more secrets than a pen or blade.

The Purple Dragon Inn and Entertainment was huge, bigger than any of the buildings on the Island. The symbol of Cormyr it seemed was used as the centre piece to the Inn, though it was in fact part opera house, theater and guest suites with two distinct restaurants, a regular though high class one and one for nobility and entertainers it seemed. Blending in using the fine clothes he had bought and the disguise that changed his face to that of another, he laughed with the crowd at a comedy he did not hear, his trained eye scanning the crowd for the right people. A coin here, an expensive wine there, it was easy to impress the wealthy with wealth, the rich hate to spend their own gold after all.

When his eyes scanned him, he did not linger for a second, staring would attract attention, better to sneeze and pretend to wipe your eyes while looking, rather than to just be looking. Was it him? Possibly. The play ended and the server brought more wine, his immunity to poisons allowing him to drink far more than his new friends could, their words already slurring and their cheeks red. The hand of some wealthy maiden touched his leg and he played the part well, getting her away from him and into the arms of another rich sop. She was not his target, Xoren was. This is where the game began.
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8:41:58 pm GMT 05/22/20
Level 10
Registered Member #1189
Joined: 1:04:10 am GMT 10/20/07
Posts: 691
Let the Hunt Begin

“What do you remember of him?” The songstress was caught off guard at the question, a bottle of ale in her hand. She had already finished one, knowing the tale that came would bring about memories--painful ones. She pressed the fresh bottle to her lips as she stood, pacing in front of the large fire-breathing hearth. “His eyes were golden and brown, swimming with colors of emeralds and sapphires..” She began, a story unlike any other---a story of pain, of torment, her own lament. The one she told Vincent, however, was not the one she played inside of her mind.. "They were mesmerizing.."

Scars that twist along my spine,
hold to you, oh love of mine.
What you’ve left on me, I see
a chapter of all my misery.

“His hands were strong, and his charisma overwhelming.” She spoke, an odd laugh breaking the silence, as if she recalled the hands that would wrap around her in a hug---then moments later….doing something else, not so kind. Vincent was kind, though. He was quiet--and he listened. Her details of his behavior left the man speechless, for a while, but she could not focus on his pity. He was an informant of many kinds, and she knew that pain was part of the job.

A girl of youth controlled by you,
who took your hand without a clue
that somewhere behind those haunting eyes
was such a despicable man, I despise..

“He had them under a spell, Deayn.” He said, encouraging her to listen to him speak. He didn’t leave a single detail out about how Xoren played for the nobles and the drunkards; his guitar branded as proudly as it used to be, in his hand. And as if entrapped in a spell of mind-control, everyone paid attention to the charismatic artist. They all adored him, even the woman who he’d pulled onto stage, lifting her mouth to his own during a song..

I despise…

“..but I broke it by this..” The informant laid a needle with a green substance inside it on the table, turning to her. He told her how he had broken through the spell, but Xoren had caught on. A man of his ability, caught, it had confused her informant, no less. He had to make a break away--he had to leave, quickly.

You haunt my dreams,
I see you at night.
Playing your guitar,
laughing at my fright.

And in his fear, Vincent was found, by thugs no less, and beaten--almost killed. The songstress listened, a song piecing together what is happening in the real world, and in her mind. “He brought me to him, and….do you remember how fast he was?” Deayn laughed, the ale bottle drained in her hand.

Fast. Quick. He was like a viper. One moment he stood on the other side of the room, and the next his hands around her neck--or his nails digging into her skin. The mere thought of it caused her to dig her own nails into her collarbone, a familiar sense of pain washing over her. Had she actually grown to miss it? No.. It wasn’t that. It was a pain that she associated with the only intimate love she understood. A part of… could not disassociate it. This is why she could never move on. No other man could touch her, put up with her. She was broken...

One day, dear Xoren,
you will come for me..
and this woman will be ready..
She is free. She is free.

“Imarin, he is coming..” He uttered her old name in the warning, and the songstress looked at the informant bowing her head. It was a chance she had to take, and she knew he’d make the connection, but Imarin was dead, and Deayn was the woman she'd been reborn. Her hand dropped from self-infliction, as she dropped the ale bottle to the ground; glass shattering everywhere. Xoren was coming to the island.

I dare you..

“He’s not human. He’s…. Something else…” The songstress looked at him, as he spoke the word of forgotten lore--tales of her heritage and land. Huli Jing, a forgotten fable of a vengeful fox-like spirit.

Things were starting to make more sense. A chapter of the past unfolding in clearer colors, words hidden in passages she’d once forgotten. Fear took her first, but it escalated into anger quickly. Overcome by a new beginning, new chapters, and a new passion--she decided, there and now, she would rise up to fight whatever may come. She had a legacy to protect.

Come for me.

“When he comes, we will be ready..” She said, tauntingly, to the flames--as if his image was there, watching. She dared him to set foot on her island. This was her home.

Let the hunt begin.

[ LAN_29 8:46:25 pm GMT 05/22/20 ]
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