Fond Memories
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Very much agreed. That statement sent a shiver up my spine. Not from fear, but that feeling you get when you see something courageous.DM Agony wrote:Holly wrote:Cer Tobias DeWitt
Panting heavily, Laertes and Cer Tobias smiled at each other but a moment, and then Cer Tobias DeWitt of Lendose, Knight of the Olde Way who had come to Corda to learn of horses, died.
I am just blown away at how this statment here moved me, Very similar to how I'd like to believe honour and courage on the battle field ends, Heroic.
Honestly, this was bad ass stuff here Matt, be proud of it.
bravo.
Well done, Matt. I truly hope these are going in the Dasarian Lending Library.
Flin Hearthstone
Captain Talaluth JuranJalah, Adept of the Whirling Serpent
Halmfors and Stee
Halmfors Orland and his younger brother Stee were not yet men. Both were the strong sons of the miller of Corda, the only one in the entire city. They had spent thier days carrying bags of flour up and down stone stairwells, learning to drive wagons, and apprenticing to inherit the family trade. Halmfors the older, was eager to accept this position within the community, as it would provide him with a home and family, and a means to become something more than a lackey. Halmfors was always hard at work, doing something, becoming something.
Stee the younger was aloof. He was very attentive in church, succombing back to daydreams once he left the sanctuary of Utu. Often he would be seen staring at the sun when he should have been studying, or paying attention to some task of mill or kiln. Master Orland often chided his younger son that he should be more attentive, more eager to accept the gifts of wisdom that his elders tried so hard to provide. During the working hours of the day, however, Stee was simply vacant to the world for the most part, or at least to the things that mattered to his father and brother, and those who considered themselves his teachers. One day they would say He will be in real school, and the lesson he learns will snap him right out of his daydream.
Halmfors swallowed hard and looked upon his brother with complete wonder. For the first time, Stee looked half-a-man. The armor he wore was tanned of the stag, and guilded with runes to protect the wearer. His round shield was nearly as big as he and his usual unruly blond hair was replaced by a war helm of a Corda Myrmidon, those trained in battle by the temple. Stee was however looking away, toward a momentary break in the clouds where the light shone through a moment, then disappeared. Stee turned to his brother and simply met eyes, expressionless eyes that begat no fear. Halmfors turned towards the invading horde blotting the horizon with sickly yellow and black and wiped his brow. Halmfors was sweating.
"Aren't you afraid?" asked Halmfors.
"No, brother." responded Stee, calmly. "There will be no more fear. no more danger for you and I after this battle. We will accomplish something terrific today."
"How can you be so sure?" Halmfors asked as his eyes widened at the sight of the towering flaming devil that appeared in ther ranks of the Varanite throng.
Stee was looking at a ray of sunnlight in the distance, it's beam striking both the green of Corda grasses and the blue of a bubbling brook before disappearing. The younger brother simply put his hand upon Halmfors' wrist, and looked toward the enemy as the drums stopped. Only an echo and a horse's snort broke the silence. Then a great yell of Corda! that filled every ear, and Halmfors found himself proclaiming it as well, but all the while Stee simply looked ahead, possibly more alert than he had ever semed in his life, and yet, completely devoid of any show of fear.
The brothers Orland were now both dismounted. Halmfors, his shakeless fear shaken, acted as sword while Stee became shield, and the two fought as one. Stee's sword had broken as he fell from his mount, but he had never drawn it. The young man had never drawn a weapon in his life. He never would.
Halmfors' strong arms made short work of many who opposed him. He bore his father's greataxe that he had won in battle against the gnolls at Greymva, but it had delapidated to becoming a mere chopper of wood. The night before Laertes declared his charge, Stee, with Goreirm's help, had it cleaned and sharpened for some reason unknown to his brother. What they ascribed to lunacy was later declared good fortune. Halmfors cut through the Varana regulars until a space cleared about them and as the enemy routed before his mighty strokes, they saw Laertes breast pierced by the greatspear of a Varanite warrior, who twisted his weapon and impaled it, before thrusting it and Laertes Fortinbras into a pile of fallen bodies and horses. The Champion of Corda spat blood, and with a heave of pain, fell lifeless.
Stee ran towards the fallen, and his brother called out for him to stop, but the younger could not, or would not hear the elder, and Halmfors pursued, pressing his greataxe into two Varanites along the way. Two arrows protruded suddenly from under his gorget, and a trickle of blood ran down his breastplate. He put his shoulder under a man rushing him, dismissing him as a horse's tail does a fly. Stee was being attacked by two soldiers with axes and a swords, and though he was deftly blockung the blows, he was helpless to fight back. Halmfors tore one of the arrows from his chest, and snarled at those attacking his brother. The two enemy soldiers retreated under Halmfors assault, and one tripped backwards as Halmfors eviscerated him.
As the older brother savaged the enemy around them, Stee slowly went to his knee, closing his eyes as if to resign himself to death. "Get up! We've got to flee!" Halmfors yelled, and as he turned a mace slammed into his right temple. "Get up" he whispered, before falling to the muddy ground.
Stee held forth his hand and put a single finger on the exposed flesh of Laertes, his wound steaming in the dawn. His gaze turned skyward as the shadows of men encroached. His expressionless face became a great smile as the shaft of a momentary sunbeam enveloped him in light, turning the gray to color, the color to white and Stee said the last incantation of his prayer to Utu.
Get up.
The body of Laertes Fortinbras glowed and moved, his eyes opened, and Stee was decapitated.
But Stee never felt any pain, never knew. The white light had taken his spirit to paradise in his moment of sacrifice. Stee had done what he was told, by the only voice to whom Stee had ever listened.
Halmfors Orland and his younger brother Stee were not yet men. Both were the strong sons of the miller of Corda, the only one in the entire city. They had spent thier days carrying bags of flour up and down stone stairwells, learning to drive wagons, and apprenticing to inherit the family trade. Halmfors the older, was eager to accept this position within the community, as it would provide him with a home and family, and a means to become something more than a lackey. Halmfors was always hard at work, doing something, becoming something.
Stee the younger was aloof. He was very attentive in church, succombing back to daydreams once he left the sanctuary of Utu. Often he would be seen staring at the sun when he should have been studying, or paying attention to some task of mill or kiln. Master Orland often chided his younger son that he should be more attentive, more eager to accept the gifts of wisdom that his elders tried so hard to provide. During the working hours of the day, however, Stee was simply vacant to the world for the most part, or at least to the things that mattered to his father and brother, and those who considered themselves his teachers. One day they would say He will be in real school, and the lesson he learns will snap him right out of his daydream.
Halmfors swallowed hard and looked upon his brother with complete wonder. For the first time, Stee looked half-a-man. The armor he wore was tanned of the stag, and guilded with runes to protect the wearer. His round shield was nearly as big as he and his usual unruly blond hair was replaced by a war helm of a Corda Myrmidon, those trained in battle by the temple. Stee was however looking away, toward a momentary break in the clouds where the light shone through a moment, then disappeared. Stee turned to his brother and simply met eyes, expressionless eyes that begat no fear. Halmfors turned towards the invading horde blotting the horizon with sickly yellow and black and wiped his brow. Halmfors was sweating.
"Aren't you afraid?" asked Halmfors.
"No, brother." responded Stee, calmly. "There will be no more fear. no more danger for you and I after this battle. We will accomplish something terrific today."
"How can you be so sure?" Halmfors asked as his eyes widened at the sight of the towering flaming devil that appeared in ther ranks of the Varanite throng.
Stee was looking at a ray of sunnlight in the distance, it's beam striking both the green of Corda grasses and the blue of a bubbling brook before disappearing. The younger brother simply put his hand upon Halmfors' wrist, and looked toward the enemy as the drums stopped. Only an echo and a horse's snort broke the silence. Then a great yell of Corda! that filled every ear, and Halmfors found himself proclaiming it as well, but all the while Stee simply looked ahead, possibly more alert than he had ever semed in his life, and yet, completely devoid of any show of fear.
The brothers Orland were now both dismounted. Halmfors, his shakeless fear shaken, acted as sword while Stee became shield, and the two fought as one. Stee's sword had broken as he fell from his mount, but he had never drawn it. The young man had never drawn a weapon in his life. He never would.
Halmfors' strong arms made short work of many who opposed him. He bore his father's greataxe that he had won in battle against the gnolls at Greymva, but it had delapidated to becoming a mere chopper of wood. The night before Laertes declared his charge, Stee, with Goreirm's help, had it cleaned and sharpened for some reason unknown to his brother. What they ascribed to lunacy was later declared good fortune. Halmfors cut through the Varana regulars until a space cleared about them and as the enemy routed before his mighty strokes, they saw Laertes breast pierced by the greatspear of a Varanite warrior, who twisted his weapon and impaled it, before thrusting it and Laertes Fortinbras into a pile of fallen bodies and horses. The Champion of Corda spat blood, and with a heave of pain, fell lifeless.
Stee ran towards the fallen, and his brother called out for him to stop, but the younger could not, or would not hear the elder, and Halmfors pursued, pressing his greataxe into two Varanites along the way. Two arrows protruded suddenly from under his gorget, and a trickle of blood ran down his breastplate. He put his shoulder under a man rushing him, dismissing him as a horse's tail does a fly. Stee was being attacked by two soldiers with axes and a swords, and though he was deftly blockung the blows, he was helpless to fight back. Halmfors tore one of the arrows from his chest, and snarled at those attacking his brother. The two enemy soldiers retreated under Halmfors assault, and one tripped backwards as Halmfors eviscerated him.
As the older brother savaged the enemy around them, Stee slowly went to his knee, closing his eyes as if to resign himself to death. "Get up! We've got to flee!" Halmfors yelled, and as he turned a mace slammed into his right temple. "Get up" he whispered, before falling to the muddy ground.
Stee held forth his hand and put a single finger on the exposed flesh of Laertes, his wound steaming in the dawn. His gaze turned skyward as the shadows of men encroached. His expressionless face became a great smile as the shaft of a momentary sunbeam enveloped him in light, turning the gray to color, the color to white and Stee said the last incantation of his prayer to Utu.
Get up.
The body of Laertes Fortinbras glowed and moved, his eyes opened, and Stee was decapitated.
But Stee never felt any pain, never knew. The white light had taken his spirit to paradise in his moment of sacrifice. Stee had done what he was told, by the only voice to whom Stee had ever listened.
Last edited by Holly on Wed Sep 29, 2004 2:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
As if I need to tell you how amazing this continues to be, I did tear up a bit as I read the last bit, again I am quite amazed at your work Matt, Thanks for getting it down here for us to appreciate.
Agony : (noun)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)
Laertes
Fortinbras waited for him to come, the eventual champion he new to be somewhere in the swell. The Varanites had generals and great captains to plan and direct any assault, but there was always a champion, the one man in any Varanite army who had murdered his way to command, intimidating all others within earshot of his hoarse, vulgar shouts. Laertes heard his voice, and knew he was near. His grip upon his weapons tightened as he listened. The blackguard would usually attack without warning.
He stepped backward and to the right, destroying a shield with his mace and stabbing it's owner through the heart. Staggering, Laertes deflected a swordblow from his left, and crushed the helmet of another foe attempting to grapple him. Looking down, he stomped his heel into a Varanite grasping his greaves to trip him. He stomped two more times, until the battered unconcious man fell limp. Laertes' vision blurred a moment as he felt something hit his back. He turned and ducked under the blow of a giant of a Varana soldier, wielding a huge mallet.
As he fought, the paladin invoked his god, Utu, and entreated him with his soul.
"My lord" He said "I have always enjoyed your company, and the wisdom you have imparted me is honor above my station. Ever have I tried to do your will, but my people suffer. I wish to make a bargain: My life for my peoples'."
There is not a day goes by that a mother does not wish to give her life for her child's, or an honest squire for his knight's. What shall be, shall be.
Laertes resumed the combat with grim determination, letting the man disarm his sword in feint, and crushing the Varana's skull with two slams of his black mace. Surrounding him were piles of the bodies of men, divided in such ways as to make them innumerable. The paladin's mouth dropped as he took in the sight of so much death, the bodies of his comrades entertwined with the enemy. The immense twisted form of the Tanar'ri, it's tongue hanging out from it's wicked maw, produced a long stream of black smoke, further attempting to obscure the sun. There were several Varanite soldiers slowly closing inward, each looking to the other, awaiting for the other to attack the wounded, weary Corda man first. Fortinbras regarded the area about him for any of his companions. He could see none, and the sounds of combat had died to but a few cuts and parrys somewhere near. Laertes pulled a crossbow bolt from his thigh, steadied himself, and stood tall against the enemy advancing upon him, thier eyes full of fear.
The sound of it, of dying, was to him of as the great churchbell of Ravenwatch, which he remembered hearing once as a boy. The lance pierced his breastplate, through his chest and ribcage, and out the front of his armor, below the left breast. The air seemed to move about him as an agonizing pain tore his very essence assunder. The warmth left his body, and all became white. There was a burning inside him and he screamed.
And then the pain and the scream stopped. He stood upon an empty field in the twighlight of summer. The Dewfins and Clarksberry were in full bloom, bright red against Corda green grases. A fog whisped between the nettles and Snowbrace, and butterflies and darning needles flew through the air, lazily.
Stee handed Goreirm a piece of bread and laughed. Aenor attempted his charm upon the ladies. Frith poured a bucket of water over Toby's head as he tried to finish brushing his mount. Women danced in the tall grasses as Fraignor played upon a tin whistle. Goreirm and Furlang were deep in thought, contemplating thier game of Weiglaiche. Lochel and Faeron wrestled in the distance as Kerowin stroked his wife's hair. Old Andring, Armung and and Halmfors raised thier drink to Laertes and smiled, beckoning him to join. Stee smiled at Laertes, and offered him a mug. Fortinbras tried to speak, but could not remove the smile from his face. He laughed and laughed.
One day, paladin, but not today. You have a daughter you must prepare. She is to do great service in her time, just as you are yet to do. Apparantly you are to be summoned back, Laertes. There is one who has already asked to give his life for another this day. What shall be shall be. Get up.
He was upon his back beneath a cloudbreak. There was no pain. He could hear himself laughing. Around him, soldiers of the yellow and black banners of Varana slowly backed away, looking to each other in doubt and fear. The man was dead, it was certain, and yet they beheld him stand. Druaga, thier vile god, had often brought the dead back to thier feet, but not as when they lived, before the killing stroke. To the Varanites, it was as though this man before them had been touched by the infinite. Death defeated. This champion of Corda had defeated death!
Laertes gripped his mace tightly with both hands, looking to his left and seeing the head of Stee Orland, the myrmidon helm still upon his brow. The expression upon Stee's face was that of a smile. No pain. No fear. The lines upon Laertes' face softened a moment, then hardened.
And the drums sounded the retreat. Those of the first rank turned upon thier fellows as if to climb them to safety, clawing and scratching to get away from this man before them. Laertes killed all those within his reach. The Varanite blackguard attempted to stab him again in the back, but the paladin turned and grabbed the lance, smashing the haft into splinters with his mace. The Champion turned to flee, but Laertes lept upon him, crushing the back of his beastplate until it would indent no more. The Corda man stood, and Angamere, Frith's splendid horse, strode up, awaiting a rider. The paladin took the reigns, stroke the mare's neck, and climbed asaddle. His brow furrowed, and he became death to his opponents.
Laertes killed near two-hundreds men who did not flee, and over the next two days, killed uncounted more as the army of the enemy retreated along mountain roads, far from the city of Corda. It rained upon them the whole way of thier retreat back to Caerthdon, from whence they had launched thier assault. Of the nine-hundreds and sixty-six men of Duke DuMain's invading army, less than half returned home alive. Varana would not again assault the city for fifteen years.
Laertes returned to the fields of battle, and with the women and children of Corda, buried nineteen old men and young, but all strong men, along the basin of the Alquarinque.
Fortinbras waited for him to come, the eventual champion he new to be somewhere in the swell. The Varanites had generals and great captains to plan and direct any assault, but there was always a champion, the one man in any Varanite army who had murdered his way to command, intimidating all others within earshot of his hoarse, vulgar shouts. Laertes heard his voice, and knew he was near. His grip upon his weapons tightened as he listened. The blackguard would usually attack without warning.
He stepped backward and to the right, destroying a shield with his mace and stabbing it's owner through the heart. Staggering, Laertes deflected a swordblow from his left, and crushed the helmet of another foe attempting to grapple him. Looking down, he stomped his heel into a Varanite grasping his greaves to trip him. He stomped two more times, until the battered unconcious man fell limp. Laertes' vision blurred a moment as he felt something hit his back. He turned and ducked under the blow of a giant of a Varana soldier, wielding a huge mallet.
As he fought, the paladin invoked his god, Utu, and entreated him with his soul.
"My lord" He said "I have always enjoyed your company, and the wisdom you have imparted me is honor above my station. Ever have I tried to do your will, but my people suffer. I wish to make a bargain: My life for my peoples'."
There is not a day goes by that a mother does not wish to give her life for her child's, or an honest squire for his knight's. What shall be, shall be.
Laertes resumed the combat with grim determination, letting the man disarm his sword in feint, and crushing the Varana's skull with two slams of his black mace. Surrounding him were piles of the bodies of men, divided in such ways as to make them innumerable. The paladin's mouth dropped as he took in the sight of so much death, the bodies of his comrades entertwined with the enemy. The immense twisted form of the Tanar'ri, it's tongue hanging out from it's wicked maw, produced a long stream of black smoke, further attempting to obscure the sun. There were several Varanite soldiers slowly closing inward, each looking to the other, awaiting for the other to attack the wounded, weary Corda man first. Fortinbras regarded the area about him for any of his companions. He could see none, and the sounds of combat had died to but a few cuts and parrys somewhere near. Laertes pulled a crossbow bolt from his thigh, steadied himself, and stood tall against the enemy advancing upon him, thier eyes full of fear.
The sound of it, of dying, was to him of as the great churchbell of Ravenwatch, which he remembered hearing once as a boy. The lance pierced his breastplate, through his chest and ribcage, and out the front of his armor, below the left breast. The air seemed to move about him as an agonizing pain tore his very essence assunder. The warmth left his body, and all became white. There was a burning inside him and he screamed.
And then the pain and the scream stopped. He stood upon an empty field in the twighlight of summer. The Dewfins and Clarksberry were in full bloom, bright red against Corda green grases. A fog whisped between the nettles and Snowbrace, and butterflies and darning needles flew through the air, lazily.
Stee handed Goreirm a piece of bread and laughed. Aenor attempted his charm upon the ladies. Frith poured a bucket of water over Toby's head as he tried to finish brushing his mount. Women danced in the tall grasses as Fraignor played upon a tin whistle. Goreirm and Furlang were deep in thought, contemplating thier game of Weiglaiche. Lochel and Faeron wrestled in the distance as Kerowin stroked his wife's hair. Old Andring, Armung and and Halmfors raised thier drink to Laertes and smiled, beckoning him to join. Stee smiled at Laertes, and offered him a mug. Fortinbras tried to speak, but could not remove the smile from his face. He laughed and laughed.
One day, paladin, but not today. You have a daughter you must prepare. She is to do great service in her time, just as you are yet to do. Apparantly you are to be summoned back, Laertes. There is one who has already asked to give his life for another this day. What shall be shall be. Get up.
He was upon his back beneath a cloudbreak. There was no pain. He could hear himself laughing. Around him, soldiers of the yellow and black banners of Varana slowly backed away, looking to each other in doubt and fear. The man was dead, it was certain, and yet they beheld him stand. Druaga, thier vile god, had often brought the dead back to thier feet, but not as when they lived, before the killing stroke. To the Varanites, it was as though this man before them had been touched by the infinite. Death defeated. This champion of Corda had defeated death!
Laertes gripped his mace tightly with both hands, looking to his left and seeing the head of Stee Orland, the myrmidon helm still upon his brow. The expression upon Stee's face was that of a smile. No pain. No fear. The lines upon Laertes' face softened a moment, then hardened.
And the drums sounded the retreat. Those of the first rank turned upon thier fellows as if to climb them to safety, clawing and scratching to get away from this man before them. Laertes killed all those within his reach. The Varanite blackguard attempted to stab him again in the back, but the paladin turned and grabbed the lance, smashing the haft into splinters with his mace. The Champion turned to flee, but Laertes lept upon him, crushing the back of his beastplate until it would indent no more. The Corda man stood, and Angamere, Frith's splendid horse, strode up, awaiting a rider. The paladin took the reigns, stroke the mare's neck, and climbed asaddle. His brow furrowed, and he became death to his opponents.
Laertes killed near two-hundreds men who did not flee, and over the next two days, killed uncounted more as the army of the enemy retreated along mountain roads, far from the city of Corda. It rained upon them the whole way of thier retreat back to Caerthdon, from whence they had launched thier assault. Of the nine-hundreds and sixty-six men of Duke DuMain's invading army, less than half returned home alive. Varana would not again assault the city for fifteen years.
Laertes returned to the fields of battle, and with the women and children of Corda, buried nineteen old men and young, but all strong men, along the basin of the Alquarinque.
Last edited by Holly on Thu Sep 30, 2004 12:59 am, edited 5 times in total.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
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Shalandravv
- Official Scribe and Librarian of Daris
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Epilogue
Upon her knees, the white-haired woman of Corda opened her eyes and regarded the sword that lay upon her lap. Orran's blade was booned her by Queen Nelina after the reunification of Dasar and the return of the rightful heir. The Kingseekers had not yet fulfilled thier ultimate goal, but one day, her majesty would provide Dasaria with it's king again. Holly brushed a fallen leaf from the leather scabbard, and traced her fingers along the engravings of holy symbols and archaic prayers.
The monument before her was simple granite, brought from the halls of Torinvhork. Rough hewn, but deep. Here lie the brave men, women, and children that perished in defense of our city and defiance of tyrrany. May Utu judge them justly. She touched the characters that represented the name of her god, and looked upward as the light of morning pervaded the village of Daris. A rooster called out it's hoarse morning song.
Growing to adulthood on the road as a wandering horse champion's daughter had never been easy. There had always been work to do, leather to mend and weapons and armor to polish, horses to tend. Holly's father's drinking had also made it difficult, as she would often have to apoligize to someone for thier broken nose or some other drunken discourtesy, or drag her father unconscious to a place where he could sleep until the next afternoon. Laertes Fortinbras was never untrue to his god, and a warrior of skill unparalleled, but the horrors of so much warfare in so short a time had left it's irrepairable wounds, deep scars that no healer can touch.
Six years ago, Laertes began a tale one night of the heroics of the men of Corda, the Twenty Men on Nineteen Horses. It was the first time Holly's father had spoken of that day to anyone. He had been hard at spirits, and was bittersweet in the telling, but alive with every detail. Holly was twelve then, and had not thought of so fond a memory in a long while. The crowd in the Snared Rabbit had been so silent, so attentive to the tale of this unnamed wandering Lord, who was made so even after being born but a common man. They hung on every word, every detail of the deaths of so brave a troupe, and wondered about thier own fathers, sons and brothers who had marched to Varana on crusade, just a month before. Lord Fortinbras winked and looked lovingly upon his daughter between draughts.
The next night Laertes stumbled in a drunken stupor in Lendose, and fell asleep in a snowdrift. He never awoke. Holly stepped out of thier provided cottage, and beheld the icicles hanging from his face in the gray morning. She stared at his face a long while. She tended to his body, undressing, cleaning and preparing it for burial. She adorned him with his jousting armor and his black mace, braided his hair, displaying the locks around his head. He was mantled in the Green and Black banner of Corda, and all his trophies and medals lay upon his chest. A warhorse galloped upon the shield at his feet. They came for the body, but Holly had already mounted and departed.
Five years after her father's death, Holly Fortinbras would come to Daris looking for her father's tomb, eventually discovering it beneath the Temple in Ravenwatch. Holly would stay, and do her part to help those who sought to defend Daris, as her father had done in Corda, more than a decade before.
Holly smiled, and thanked Utu for the pleasant thought of her father's storytelling, and the sad sweet smile she beheld upon his face that night, and that night only.
The end.
Upon her knees, the white-haired woman of Corda opened her eyes and regarded the sword that lay upon her lap. Orran's blade was booned her by Queen Nelina after the reunification of Dasar and the return of the rightful heir. The Kingseekers had not yet fulfilled thier ultimate goal, but one day, her majesty would provide Dasaria with it's king again. Holly brushed a fallen leaf from the leather scabbard, and traced her fingers along the engravings of holy symbols and archaic prayers.
The monument before her was simple granite, brought from the halls of Torinvhork. Rough hewn, but deep. Here lie the brave men, women, and children that perished in defense of our city and defiance of tyrrany. May Utu judge them justly. She touched the characters that represented the name of her god, and looked upward as the light of morning pervaded the village of Daris. A rooster called out it's hoarse morning song.
Growing to adulthood on the road as a wandering horse champion's daughter had never been easy. There had always been work to do, leather to mend and weapons and armor to polish, horses to tend. Holly's father's drinking had also made it difficult, as she would often have to apoligize to someone for thier broken nose or some other drunken discourtesy, or drag her father unconscious to a place where he could sleep until the next afternoon. Laertes Fortinbras was never untrue to his god, and a warrior of skill unparalleled, but the horrors of so much warfare in so short a time had left it's irrepairable wounds, deep scars that no healer can touch.
Six years ago, Laertes began a tale one night of the heroics of the men of Corda, the Twenty Men on Nineteen Horses. It was the first time Holly's father had spoken of that day to anyone. He had been hard at spirits, and was bittersweet in the telling, but alive with every detail. Holly was twelve then, and had not thought of so fond a memory in a long while. The crowd in the Snared Rabbit had been so silent, so attentive to the tale of this unnamed wandering Lord, who was made so even after being born but a common man. They hung on every word, every detail of the deaths of so brave a troupe, and wondered about thier own fathers, sons and brothers who had marched to Varana on crusade, just a month before. Lord Fortinbras winked and looked lovingly upon his daughter between draughts.
The next night Laertes stumbled in a drunken stupor in Lendose, and fell asleep in a snowdrift. He never awoke. Holly stepped out of thier provided cottage, and beheld the icicles hanging from his face in the gray morning. She stared at his face a long while. She tended to his body, undressing, cleaning and preparing it for burial. She adorned him with his jousting armor and his black mace, braided his hair, displaying the locks around his head. He was mantled in the Green and Black banner of Corda, and all his trophies and medals lay upon his chest. A warhorse galloped upon the shield at his feet. They came for the body, but Holly had already mounted and departed.
Five years after her father's death, Holly Fortinbras would come to Daris looking for her father's tomb, eventually discovering it beneath the Temple in Ravenwatch. Holly would stay, and do her part to help those who sought to defend Daris, as her father had done in Corda, more than a decade before.
Holly smiled, and thanked Utu for the pleasant thought of her father's storytelling, and the sad sweet smile she beheld upon his face that night, and that night only.
The end.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
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Templar Raeflyn
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 657
- Joined: Mon Jan 13, 2003 7:24 am
- Location: Daris (Canada)
I've been keeping up with this story since you first posted Holly, and I'm stunned by the level of skill. Absoloutely stunned.
You have a talent for writing in such a way that it grabs the reader and doesn't let go. You should seriously look into doing something with that talent if you already haven't--I'm sure there are thousands of people out there who would enjoy reading your words.
Again, I'm floored. Awesome stuff, man.
You have a talent for writing in such a way that it grabs the reader and doesn't let go. You should seriously look into doing something with that talent if you already haven't--I'm sure there are thousands of people out there who would enjoy reading your words.
Again, I'm floored. Awesome stuff, man.
Templar Raeflyn E'Doras the Crusader
Lieutenant of the Queen's Guards
Warrior of the Fist
Lieutenant of the Queen's Guards
Warrior of the Fist
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Twotall Longwalking
- Commoner
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Fri Sep 24, 2004 1:47 pm
- Location: USA ...Maybe I'll tell you later
Templar Raeflyn wrote:I've been keeping up with this story since you first posted Holly, and I'm stunned by the level of skill. Absoloutely stunned.
You have a talent for writing in such a way that it grabs the reader and doesn't let go. You should seriously look into doing something with that talent if you already haven't--I'm sure there are thousands of people out there who would enjoy reading your words.
Again, I'm floored. Awesome stuff, man.
Couldn't have said it better.
Fantastic stuff Matt.
Agony : (noun)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)
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lankycheese
- Forum Troll
- Posts: 1150
- Joined: Wed Apr 21, 2004 6:13 am
- Location: AUSTRALIA!
- Contact:
That was just... nothing short of awesome. Really rang true about honour on the battle field, that last stand for what you believe in. Truly captured the essence of the paladin. Just bloody awesome mate.
_b _b _b _b _b 5 Thumbs Up!
_b _b _b _b _b 5 Thumbs Up!
Tilirinn Showra, Paladin of Marduk, Kingseeker Knight of Dasaria.
Padril, Sharpshooter of Daris.
Padril, Sharpshooter of Daris.