Shattered Moon - A Novel Idea

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Shattered Moon - A Novel Idea

Postby Kaldur on Wed Oct 01, 2014 12:19 pm

I've been busy away plotting a book, and it turns out it's really hard work! When you're writing outside the WoW universe and trying to create a world of your own there's an awful lot to do. I've taken a character from a short-story of mine, had some world ideas, and then plotted a longer story around her. So far I've written a prologue and the first chapter out of a planned 30 chapters! But, before I go on, I need some help. Basically I need some feedback.

With the prologue and 1st chapter I want to establish how the book will read (it's voice), and hopefully catch readers' interest. My main character, Ariette, features in Chapter I but I want the prologue to add a bit of depth, a bit of mystery, and a hint of what the story is all about. Does it achieve this?

If anyone feels like reading something longer on the forum and giving a bit of feedback - good, bad, and ugly - I'd really appreciate it. It'll hopefully put me on the right track and encourage me to go on writing.



Synopsis
Avalan is a continent in crisis. Rising sea levels have forced thousands of south islanders to the mainland where kings already fight viciously for power and resources. In the North, the Temple of Gavaldrin has started a crusade to quell the violence, using any means necessary to unify the kingdoms under the rule of their god. The Temple has one significant advantage. The creation of Mystics - people with abilities enhanced through a series of markings on their skin - has given the Temple a super army no kingdom can match.

Ariette, is a young woman who wakes up in the river town of Fangfoss with broken memories. Whilst she starts to make a life for herself, she struggles to plan a future when she cannot piece together her past. Thus, Ariette sets off on a voyage to retrace the steps of her life; where she will discover her own connection to the Temple, and a once-feared deamon-warrior called Eram Nevar.
Kaldur Winterwind
The Old Bear. Former Keeper of the Order of Natures Grasp.

Amaeya Moonsorrow
Priestess, Peacemaker, and a Shining Beacon of Silver Light

Kreska Stormraven
Killer of Highborne, Historys' Assassin, a Dark Legend - missing presumed dead
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Kaldur
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Re: Shattered Moon - A Novel Idea

Postby Kaldur on Wed Oct 01, 2014 12:19 pm

Shattered Moon

Image


Prologue
Chapter I
Kaldur Winterwind
The Old Bear. Former Keeper of the Order of Natures Grasp.

Amaeya Moonsorrow
Priestess, Peacemaker, and a Shining Beacon of Silver Light

Kreska Stormraven
Killer of Highborne, Historys' Assassin, a Dark Legend - missing presumed dead
User avatar
Kaldur
Former Councillor
Former Councillor
 
Posts: 1334
Joined: Sun Apr 11, 2010 8:28 am
Location: England
Character: Kaldur
Realm: Defias Brotherhood
Class: Druid

Re: Shattered Moon - A Novel Idea

Postby Kaldur on Wed Oct 01, 2014 12:29 pm

Prologue
Word Count: 2619

Image


Eram Nevar rode into the city of Libernum at dawn, not yet knowing that this day would be her last. She knew something was different, she just didn't know what. An unfamiliar feeling stirred deep within her bones, slowly gaining purchase on her senses and turning her into something new. She'd felt this way once before. But that had been a long time ago, in another life. She didn’t have time to wonder what the feeling meant this time, or why it was happening now.

She knew she looked alien and threatening as she stood in the Keep’s forecourt, impatiently waiting for the councillors to hastily rise from their beds. For the city’s residents, this forecourt was a place of discussion and contemplation, where ideas were shared and even religions could be called into question. She presumed that a political debate was about as much confrontation as the city’s residents normally found amongst the sun-bleached walls, lush flowerbeds and trickling water fountains. Everything about her surroundings suggested the indolence of heretics. Everything but herself. Eram stood there like the statue of a daemon wrought in black steel, casting a shadow so grim she hoped that the lazy peace of the forecourt might forever more be marred by her presence.

The advantage of her quietly imposing figure was only increased when the councillors arrived. Where they wore soft silks, embroidered hems, and ruffled cloth, Eram’s armour was flat black surfaces and sharp edges; a dragon without wings. The councillors spilled out of the Keep one after the other, each trailing advisors and additional guards behind them. They approached tentatively, their slippered feet treading lightly on the sand covered floor.

There were seven councillors altogether. All men with grey hair and sallow faces. To Eram, they didn’t look like they could lift a sword between them. Their leader appeared to be the oldest and the weakest of them all, who walked with stooped shoulders and a neck that had to crane all the way back to simply look straight ahead. He held his wrinkled palms up towards Eram as he approached.

“Vartigan. We didn’t expect you to be here so soon,” he croaked. “If you had sent word ahead we would have prepared better for your arrival.”

Eram didn’t reply. She let the old man falter as his anxious eyes sought to find some sign of life within the dark confines of her metal helm.

“I’m Counsellor Dulso. On behalf the Council of Libernam, I’d like to say how sorry we are for…”

“Are you responsible for the death of the Ambassador, Dulso?” Eram cut in. Her gravely voice echoed off the forecourt walls bringing silence to all within.

The old councillor held his breath. A wisp of thin white hair floated down in front of his face to touch the beads of sweat that had gathered on his nose. Whilst he tried to look straight ahead, she could see his eyes kept being drawn to the large notched sword that hung at her side.

The forecourt remained silent. When the old Councillor didn’t speak it was one of the other council members that moved forward in his place. This one’s clothing appeared far more functional and businesslike than the others. His straight and well-pressed tunic made him look like he actually worked. Whilst his hair was grey he still had a full head of it, and he wore it with a neatly trimmed beard. He looked just like a younger version of the first councillor. She noticed he tenderly put a hand on the old man’s forearm as he stepped past him, and moved under her own shadow.

“Vartigan, if I may - We believe the murder was carried out by a rebel group from Itnar who have been working within the city. They seek to damage the prospect of peace between Libernum and your Temple - a prospect we hold most dear." His hands flexed nervously by his sides, yet he looked straight at her as he spoke. “Please, reassure your Priests that the rebels will be rounded up and executed as soon as possible. I cannot say how much we regret what has happened.”

Eram didn’t speak, but started to lift her arms upwards. It was the first movement she had made since arriving in the forecourt. She paused as she noticed the guards who quickly gripped their spears more tightly in reply. How many were there now? She wondered. Two dozen? And no doubt more waiting out of sight. Probably more than I could take. Yet every one of them still stinks of fear.

Slowly, she raised her arms upwards and removed her helm to unveil the pale face and cropped raven black hair of the woman underneath. With the helm by her side, she cast her cold stare across the forecourt, meeting the eyes of anyone who was brave enough to return her look. Few did. Of the soldiers, only their captain kept his chin raised, but his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword when her eyes crossed his own. She turned back to the smartly dressed younger councillor.

“What is your name, Councillor?” Asked Eram, certain she was addressing the one who really ran the city and not some blasted philosopher.

“I’m Councillor Velágna, at your service.”

“Velágna, the Temple sent an Ambassador to you on a mission of peace and you let her be murdered? The lack of control you have within your own walls is disgraceful. You should pray that the Temple does not hold you all directly responsible for her death.”

The younger councillor stared back at her. Eram saw his eyes go wide and his face go one shade paler. She knew he’d just caught his first sense of the presence that lurked behind her eyes unseen.

“We’ve all heard tales of how strong and powerful the soldiers of your order are, Vartigen.” Came a grizzly voice from the side of Eram. She turned slowly to face the captain of the guard, whose right hand was poised ready on the hilt of his sword once more. He looked like the only one here that might be worth the fight.

“But, we also know you are not invincible. And you are very much alone in this city - alone and outnumbered. You should not be so quick to make threats.” His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed under her stare but he didn't flinch.

“Did I threaten them, soldier?” Eram smirked. “I thought I made a helpful suggestion. Gavaldrin is always ready to accept the prayers of new members to our religion, should the Councillors wish to convert.”

“Your very arrival in this city is a threat, Vartigen. One we are very well prepared for.”

“Captain, please. Your input is not required.” Velágna broke in. “Vartigen, we know we are in the wrong for what has happened here. Please, press our apologies upon your Priests. We are willing to make whatever reasonable reparations are necessary so that this peace process can continue.”

Eram’s lips spread into a thin smile. There it was. They both knew that the Ambassador’s death would offer the Temple an excuse to go to war with Libernum.

“It is not I who will decide the Temple’s response to this atrocity. I was sent to confirm the Ambassador’s death, nothing more. All I ask is that you show me where you keep her remains and let me take what I require.”

“Of course. Captain, please escort our guest. And be sure she does not come to any harm in the city.”



Each of the twenty-two steps leading down to the catacombs rang dully with the footfall of Eram’s metal boots. Sunlight gave way to candlelight; and fresh air, to the cloistered stink of damp earth and rot. A line of crimson-cloaked soldiers led the way down underground before her. The tunnel grew cooler with every step.

The body of the dead Ambassador was waiting in the main room below, though Eram knew her better as Elaine. It was almost a lifetime ago, but that body had once belonged to the girl who had been her best friend. Eram stopped still when she caught sight of her, lying face-up on the central platform in the silent underground tomb. Porcelain white flesh atop a cold granite surface. A sudden pain struck Eram like a hot poker right through the heart. It was wrong. The cold stone room seemed to have sucked everything out of Elaine and given nothing back. No comfort. No life. The Elaine from her memories had once lit up every room she entered and brought spring to every life she touched. Everything she remembered about Elaine told her that she didn't belong down here, where the air stirred only with the addition of another corpse.

Eram twisted in revulsion. Her stomach threatened to spill its contents across the room. Her hands shook and her head swam. Wet prickles spread across her skin. She’d feared, but hadn’t expected the emotional assault that came upon her. Was it a shadow of her former life or worse? Could it be part of the change that was coming?

Such a pain, it’s almost physical, she thought. How do they live with these emotions? How could I?

With deep sucking breaths she pushed the alien sensations back down, and bound them away using every fibre of who she was. Oppressing the feelings was far more difficult that she thought it would be. She was grateful for the dim light that hid the tears welling on her lids. Only once she was certain she had control, did she raise her face up to look at Elaine once more.

The Ambassador had been dressed in a white silk gown, and small autumn flowers had been woven amongst the bronze strands of her hair. A garland of amber leaves was clutched against her breast. It was clear that the councillors had tried their best. The wreath hid the ragged wound that had been gouged into her chest. Eram didn't need to see it to know it was there.

She didn't inspect the body. She didn’t want to think about Elaine any more. She gave the Ambassador’s pallid face a final look, then with delicacy she unhooked the necklace around her neck and stashed it unceremoniously in her pouch. It hurt more than they could know leaving Elaine down here. More than it should. Porcelain white flesh atop a cold granite surface.

"Burn the body. Bury the ashes." She turned and left, taking the catacomb steps two at a time.

The grime and clamour of the city swarmed her when she ascended, assaulting her senses with the smells and noises of too many people living in too little space. Even at this time in the morning the dust and heat was overwhelming. Eram hated this city. There were too many non-believers. Too little order to their lives. She felt a surge of energy when she saw her dark horse ready and waiting. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. His black muscles were taught in anticipation of the open road. As she sat on his back and replaced the beaked helm over her head she felt a shade more like herself. The armour of the Vartigen was the body she had been born into - a metallic black skin, unyielding and sharp.

She put a boot to her horses flank and laid a path out of the city. No one stopped her.



She left the city with the cloud of dust that rose in her wake. Only once the squat beige towers were out of sight did she let up on the reigns, but even then she kept up a speed few travellers could match. She rode past dunes and followed rough tracks through the scrub of short trees until she hit the river road. Despite every turn she took, every mile she travelled, the thought of the dead Ambassador rode at her side.

It was like reading through the pages of one’s own diary for the first time in years and experiencing old feelings and thoughts coming back to life. Images from a life passed flooded Eram's head, tainting her with emotions she didn’t know how to endure.

The two women had known each other since childhood; played together as girls; teased boys together as teens. They had pledged themselves to the Temple before they had known what they had been giving up.

And what has the Temple given them in return? A voice inside her asked. Porcelain white flesh atop a cold granite surface? Metallic black skin, unyielding and sharp?

The voice begged at Eram like an inconvenient itch, amplified with every attempt to scratch it from her mind. The sun was setting by the time she realised she had lost. She would never make it back to the Mystics in time. Her journey would end here.

Eram left the river road on foot, abandoning her dark horse to wander north alone. Letting the horse live when an enemy might find him was just another weakness that had grown on her in the last few hours. She let the sound of crashing water guide her to where she needed to go. She was only capable of doing things on instinct now.

Here, the river had cut through the land more deftly than any sword. Steep banks rose along the water on either side with sharp rocky faces that would be impossible to climb. Down below, the rivers ceaseless current crashed against the land, and spikes of rock like teeth rose up along the shores to bite at the night sky.

Eram tested the drop with her belongings first. She removed each piece of her armour painfully as though she was peeling back her own skin. One by one, each intricate piece of metalwork was fed to the rocks and water below. She watched as the rocks split them apart and the churning current chewed them into pieces. Their destruction barely made a sound over the rush of the water far below. Whatever remained would be drowned or scattered. It was as good as she could hope for.

Soon, the woman who had once been Eram Nevar, stood shivering in her small clothes before the cold night wind. The complicated markings painted along her back, legs and arms, still glowed faintly green. Even now she could tell they were fading.

Whilst the brittle emotions and insecurities of another waged a battle inside her, Eram refused to let herself feel shame. Haven't I been a good soldier? She asked herself. For ten years she’d waged war for her God and seen His Temple grow powerful under the service of warriors like her. She had done everything the Temple ever asked of her. Everything.

But, it had been the guilt of following that final order that had broken her - the order to murder one of the Temple’s own, a woman whose necklace now lay abandoned by her feet. The Ambassador, who had once been her best friend Elaine, had become her final victim. Even now she could see the blood that had gushed from her neck in a flood to choke her final scream.

Guilt… Weakness…

She was certain there would be no shame in ending this life now. It would be better than letting this abomination continue. The Temple didn’t have any use for soldiers who gave in to such feelings.

Eram gathered together the hardening emotions she needed for her final journey - anger, courage and pride. She wrapped them around herself, made a final prayer to Him, and then sent her body down to meet its fate in the waters below.
Kaldur Winterwind
The Old Bear. Former Keeper of the Order of Natures Grasp.

Amaeya Moonsorrow
Priestess, Peacemaker, and a Shining Beacon of Silver Light

Kreska Stormraven
Killer of Highborne, Historys' Assassin, a Dark Legend - missing presumed dead
User avatar
Kaldur
Former Councillor
Former Councillor
 
Posts: 1334
Joined: Sun Apr 11, 2010 8:28 am
Location: England
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Realm: Defias Brotherhood
Class: Druid

Re: Shattered Moon - A Novel Idea

Postby Kaldur on Wed Oct 01, 2014 12:36 pm

Chapter I
Word Count: 2601

Image


Somewhere nearby the wind howled like a grieving dog. She could hear it bending trees and scattering debris in its tortured anguish. She didn’t know where she was but she knew she must be sheltered, for not a wisp of it touched her skin. She felt cosy. Cushioned. Warm. Loved. She could smell smoke in the air around her. It wasn’t acrid like a town being torched or bodies being burned. This smoke carried the smell of fireblossom. Yes, Fireblossom! She remembered that smell. The sort her mother burned whenever one of them was ill. Ariette, her mother would call her, and her voice would fall and rise over her name like it had a melody to it. Ariette.

She fought against the fatigue of her own lids and the crust of dried tears to open her eyes. Light rushed in. All amber and brown. It wasn’t strong, but it felt as oppressive as the blazing midday sun. She squinted and pushed through it, forcing her eyes to accommodate as quickly as they could. It would be worth any discomfort to find herself at home and to see her mother again.

But it wasn’t mother who sat beside the fire. Mother was young, tall and proud. The figure by the fire was a woman bent double and crooked. Her hunched shoulders rose higher than the crown of her head. She wore a black shroud that cast her as a silhouette before the small cabin's burning hearth. The only detail Ariette could make out was the woman’s spindly long fingers that came out from under her cloak with knotted joints and yellowed nails. She held them trembling before the fires warmth.

If not mother, then who and where? A witch perhaps? Ariette gasped. It was a quiet sound to make over the wind, but the figure must have heard. She turned her head back towards Ariette. As she did, the amber light of the fire streaked across her face. Ariette could see that her skin was more wrinkled than a prune and hung off her bones in looping bands. Her eyes were something rare. Both globes were as pale and featureless as polished moonstones. She was quite clearly blind. That particular disfigurement meant she’d been born before the Year of Shattered Moon at least.

“You wake?” The old woman asked. Her voice sounded as worn as she looked; all breath and rasp with hardly any substance at all. She cast back the hood of her shroud and thin straw-like white hair fell about her shoulders chaotically.

“I…” Ariette croaked. Her tongue felt stiff like it had never expected to move again. Fear brought a fresh sweat to her brow. The woman certainly looked like she could be a witch, but how does one tell?

The old woman rose slowly, and then shuffled over to the bed where Ariette lay. The floorboards creaked with every step. As she reached out towards her, Ariette flinched bringing a wave of pain down her arms and back. She pulled her bedcovers more closely around her, but she couldn’t do much else. She was as weak and as helpless as a half-drowned kitten. The old woman didn’t notice. Her hand searched out for Ariette. When she found her, she ran her knotted fingers through Ariette's cropped black hair.

“Huh. It’s a miracle you’re alive.” She clucked. “ ‘ bet you didn’t expect to find yourself here.”

Ariette swallowed, her tongue dove about trying to find something to moisten her lips enough so she could talk. “W-h-ere… where am I exactly?”

“At my home. You’re safe here. My boy pulled you from the river - brought you back here naked and half-drowned.” Her eyes looked somewhere over the top of her head, but she carried on running her fingers through Ariette’s hair. “Oh don’ worry. I doubt he noticed. I don’ think he notices those sort of things.

Ariette cast her eyes around the room. There was no sign that a man lived here. Would he return?

“You got a name?” the woman asked.

“Ariette - I think.”

“You think? Huh. Well, I’m Noilly – or so I think too. One forgets these sort of things when you get to my age.”

Noilly clucked again, then she smiled a two-toothed grin. As she stared blindly into the space above her head, Ariette studied her face.

“So, what was it Ariette, d’you fall or jump?”

Jump? “I… don’t…”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first girl to jump. And believe me my dear - He’s not worth it!”

Did she jump? Ariette’s mind drew a blank. Her memories were like a landscape covered in snow. There were clearly shapes and features underneath, but right now they were indistinct and barely familiar.

Noilly lowered herself down onto the bed beside Ariette. “Are you carrying a baby, child?” she asked quietly.

Baby? Ariette shook her head sharply. She didn’t think she was but, could she be?

“ ’s alright. You don’ have to tell me anything. But listen, I’ve been around a long time. I’ve seen all sorts of folk in all sorts of trouble. Nothing is new to me.”

Ariette didn’t know what to say. She tried to pull something from her memory, anything. Her mother burning fireblossom was the only real memory she could find. There was a jumble of other images in her mind – faces, places, and things – but none of them made any sense. Nothing came to her with any feeling or context.

As Ariette unsuccessfully probed her memory Noilly felt her brow, then loosened the blanket and tucked it down under her arms. “You’re strong aren’t you?” The old woman remarked. She wrapped her fingers around the top of one of Ariette’s arms. “You live on a farm?”

She lifted one of her own arms to look. It was true. Beneath a patchwork of bruises, she could see thick well-defined muscles in her upper arm. They didn't look like they could belong to her and neither did her hands. The skin was thinner and the joints looked fatter than she thought they should. In the firelight she could make out a thin network of lines like scars on her skin. What had happened to her to cause so many? “I don’t… I don’t remember…”

“'s alright - like I said, you don’ have to tell me anything.” Noilly withdrew her hands from Ariette. "But you can when you're ready - If - you feel ready."

“No. I mean, I really don’t remember - anything actually. My mind’s a complete blank.” It felt like a lot to give up the only truth she had, but she couldn’t lie to the old woman. Although she wasn't her mother, she was just as dependent on her right now.

Noilly frowned. Both of her hands came up to Ariette’s face. The old woman ran her fingers over the contours of her skull whilst she clicked her tongue. “Hit your head huh? I s’pose you did. You hit just about everything else. Do you remember anything at all?”

"Just my name... And my mother... I thought I was at home."

Noilly's unseeing eyes appeared to stare at her for a moment. The woman frowned before her face relaxed once more.

“Don’ worry. It’ll come back. And you’re safe here until it does. Now, let’s see if I've anything to give you to eat.”

Noilly shuffled across the creaking floorboards once more. Ariette watched the old woman as she set about searching her cupboards then started preparing food. She wasn't her mother, but there was a familiar feeling of home as she busied herself by the stove. She talked to Ariette as she worked. She didn't talk back, but Noilly didn't seem to care. The old woman appeared quite comfortable keeping a one-sided conversation going.

With the sounds of Noilly talking and cooking over the howling of the wind, Ariette let herself relax. Who was she, she wondered. She raised her hands to explore her face. She could feel that her bottom lip was swollen. All along the line of her jaw there were tender spots that must have been bruises and cuts. She ran her fingers through her hair then pulled it in front of her eyes. It was raven black, and short enough that it barely reached below her ears.

She lifted the blanket under which she lay to find she was dressed in a thin grey gown. She suspected it was something Noilly normally wore; it certainly smelt musty and well used. She didn’t feel she had the energy to check over the rest of her body, but she was sure it was pretty bruised. It was difficult to think of anywhere that didn’t feel sore. She hoped nothing was broken. She let the blanket drop and raised her hands once again. These hands had been well used. They weren’t the delicate thin hands of a young woman, or the wrinkled hands of an old woman. They had a strong grip, and callused palms. She thought her hands would have been younger than this. Something didn’t seem right.

So, what of her predicament, she wondered. Right now, she was completely dependent on the old woman. She didn't have a single possession of her own or any idea who or where she was. Was someone out there looking for her? Could she really be in trouble like Noilly had suggested? She reached into her mind for answers once again. There was something there. A figure in black. A hard steel figure outlined with sharp metallic edges. Just the thought of it made her skin grow cold. It made her feel ill and shaky, so she pulled away. She let her mind wander where it wanted. Her stomach began to anticipate Noilly's cooking and her mouth watered with the promise of food.

She had started to drift off to sleep when she heard the door open. A sudden rush of wind swept through the hut. She looked up to see Noilly speaking to her, but it wasn't until the door had closed again that she could hear her words. A large figure in a fur cloak had moved into the hut and was occupying the doorway. The figure was a man, nearly as wide as he was tall. Yet, as large as he was, he seemed to be trying to shrink back through the door whilst he looked at Ariette in bed. He was a youngish man with a rough boyish face. He held his hands up across his chest and his head was sunken into his shoulders. Ariette might have been afraid if she hadn't quickly realised he was far more cowed than she was right now.

"This is my boy Peter." Noilly said. "Peter, this is our guest, Ariette. Peter is the one who saved you from the river."

Peter nodded, yet only vaguely. His eyes darted around the room, refusing to look at Ariette for anything longer than a split second.

"He's not really mine, but we look after each other like any mother and son would." The little old woman gave the big man a shove in the back with her wooden cooking spoon. "Well, don't be shy Peter. Go and say hello."

Peter took a shuffled step further into the room. He muttered a word that could have been 'Hello', before shuffling back to the door again. Noilly clucked.

" 'e's not good with strangers. Funny how 'alf the village is afraid of him. But, he'll get used to you soon enough. 'e does the working and the seeing, an' I do the thinking and talking. Lucky we found each other really. 'e's a good lad."

Peter’s face lit up at the compliment. He offered Ariette a shy smile and she returned it with a beaming smile of her own. She inched herself up in bed as much as she dared, readjusting pillows to take the weight off the most bruised parts of her back. When she turned back she found that Peter had slid along the wall and had sat himself in a chair at the foot of the bed. He still refused to make eye contact with her. His eyes awkwardly looked at different things around the room. Up close, all his features seemed to be bigger than they should be - big hands, big nose, big eyes. She could see why villagers might be scared of him.

As they both sat in silence, Noilly brought over two bowls of food. It was a stew of some sort, thick and brown with potatoes sitting on the surface. They both reached out to take a bowl from Noilly. As Peter took his, he lifted an object out from under his cloak, pushed it into her hands and muttered something. Ariette dug into her stew.

"What you got here?" Noilly asked. Her hands did the work her eyes couldn't, as they explored the shape of the object. "Something metal? Feels... well crafted."

Two spoonfuls hit her stomach and Ariette felt instantly a lot better. She lifted her nose out of the stew with interest. There was something heavy in Noilly's hands. It looked like a long bracelet of metal painted black. Silver shone through the paint on its scuffed sides. The edges were ominous and sharp.

Suddenly her mind was flooded with an image of what it would be like to wear that black steel. She could feel it cold and harsh around her wrist. She could see its darkness growing, spreading around her, blotting out her own pink skin and turning her into something dreadful. Seeing but not feeling. Breaking without mercy.

Terrified, her legs kicked out, sending her blankets and bowl of stew down onto the floor. Peter’s stew quickly followed as he leapt backwards in surprise. She hadn't thought she could stand a few minutes ago, but now Ariette found herself up on the bed, clawing at the walls to get as far away from the thing in Noilly's hands as she could.

"Ariette? What is it?" Noilly asked, hearing and feeling the commotion around her, but unable to see what was wrong. She moved forward, but that only made Ariette fight harder. She retreated back into the corner of the room, trying to push herself between the wall and the bed, whilst her wide eyes searched for another way out the shack that didn't take her past Noilly.

It was Peter who came to her rescue. Something in him clicked. He lifted the black steel plate bracer out of Noilly's hands and rushed it to the door. He held it out in front of himself like it might bite him at any moment. He opened the door to the rush of the wind and threw it out into the storm.

As the door closed, Ariette began to calm. The sudden panic had exhausted her. She slowly slid back towards the bed then buried her head under the covers. Sweat sailed off her skin and her stomach lurched like she might be sick. The stinging ache of her bruises returned with a vengeance.

Noilly approached carefully. "Ariette? Ariette, child. What was it? What was - that?"

But Ariette couldn't say. She didn't have words for the feelings she'd just had. She looked up expecting to find the old woman looking angry, but she only looked concerned. Noilly's fingers found her hair once more and she tenderly ran them through it.

"Something and someone I never wish to remember." Ariette replied before the sobbing took her and she buried her head into the blankets once more.
Kaldur Winterwind
The Old Bear. Former Keeper of the Order of Natures Grasp.

Amaeya Moonsorrow
Priestess, Peacemaker, and a Shining Beacon of Silver Light

Kreska Stormraven
Killer of Highborne, Historys' Assassin, a Dark Legend - missing presumed dead
User avatar
Kaldur
Former Councillor
Former Councillor
 
Posts: 1334
Joined: Sun Apr 11, 2010 8:28 am
Location: England
Character: Kaldur
Realm: Defias Brotherhood
Class: Druid


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