|
The Arcane Order |
| Melyanna closed the window to their rented
rooms in the Mystical Spirits inn. Stretching, she looked across the
room to where Azeron was already asleep in the huge four poster bed. “Amin
mela lle,” she whispered as she doused the candles around the room and
climbed into bed, snuggling next to him. Soon reverie was upon her, her
half closed eyes moving as memories floated before her.
* * * It was a beautiful day, the crystal blue sky was marred by a few wisps of trailing clouds. Melyanna looked about her excitedly. Today is the day! she thought, unable to contain her joy. Azeron had told her he had found a cleric to perform their wedding and she was to be ready by no later than mid afternoon. Not one to give into vanity, Melyanna looked at her reflection in the pooled water before her. The dress, in a light shade of brown, swirled about her ankles. I hope he likes it, she thought, once again looking at her reflection. Her eyes widened as she saw the reflection, her hand lifting to her eyes. The eyes that looked back at her were a malicious red, but they quickly disappeared, her own emerald staring back at her... ~ ~ ~ The waterfall provided the music for their ceremony as Khyrian intoned the words that would bind them in the edan tradition. Ayala and Aile growled their agreement to the ceremony, each bear snuffling a different hand. Azeron, you may kiss your wife Khyrian said, beaming a smile at his friend. Melyanna turned to Azeron, closing her eyes as their lips met in a loving kiss, sealing their bond. Something cold suddenly touched her heart and she opened her eyes, looking into the cold red ones staring at her from Azeron's face... * * * Melyanna gasped, sitting up in bed. Soon the familiar shapes of the room flooded back to her as Azeron awoke. “Mely, what is it?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I... I do not know mela. Go back to sleep. I did not mean to wake you...” Nodding sleepily, Azeron snuggled against his wife, holding her close. But Melyanna, confused by her reverie, continued to stare across the room. |
| Melyanna sat beneath a tree, her slender back
resting against the rough trunk. Leather clad knees were pulled up to
her chest, a bare arm resting across them. Purple rimmed eyes, the only
outward sign of her exhaustion, stared off into the distance. Memories
floated before her minds eye as she slipped into reverie.
She was a child again. Melyanna did not fully understand what was happening around her. Her mother seemed to have aged overnight. Ilthaya's emerald eyes had lost their sparkle, the puffiness beneath them attesting to hours spent sobbing. Her once lustrous auburn hair hung limp about her shoulders. Laid out before them on the funeral pyre, was Corayanus' battered body. The healers had tried their best to close the wound that mangled his once handsome features, but had failed. Young Melyanna's face was streaked with tears, her small hand held tightly in her mother's. The priest intoned the words of the funeral ceremony, an unusual ceremony to hold for an elf in these circumstances. Ilthaya's clammy hand tightened reflexively on her daughter's when one of the others lit the torch with the flame that would consume Corayanus' body. Soon the priest nodded to the torch holder, who quickly touched it the pitch covered pyre. The flames smoked for a moment then flared up with a swoosh, engulfing the corpse. As the flames consumed Corayanus, he suddenly sat up, flames shooting skyward forming the corpses hair. Melyanna's eyes widened in shock as she looked to the others who continued to stare at the flames as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. The body turned towards Melyanna, arms outstretched and beckoned to her. Melyanna shook her head, unable to do more till the eyes opened. As the menacing, glowing red orbs looked to the child she started screaming hysterically... Melyanna had slumped to the soft grassy bed beneath the shadows of humongous oak tree. She whimpered, twisting and turning as she fought against the images in her mind. As the child screamed hysterically, the grown Melyanna sat up and started screaming. |
| Melyanna stared at the potion Thrand had
given her. The murky, black potion was supposed to help her rest. Do
I drink it? she thought wearily. She was exhausted, she had not had
a decent reverie in nearly a week. Each night she had awoken, drenched
in her own perspiration and trembling. Her heart felt as if it was
trying to escape her rib cage. Now she had a potion, that Thrand said
would relax her enough to put her into a restful trance, not reverie.
“Please Mely, drink the potion, I think it will help you,” Azeron's worried voice pleaded with her. With a soft sigh, slender fingers wrapped around the stopper and gently pulled it out. She took a deep breath, slowly raised the bottle to her lips and drank the potion. “Eru, it tastes awful...” she murmured, gagging on the vile aftertaste the potion left in her mouth. The taste lingering on her tongue, she climbed into bed. Azeron, climbing in next to her, wrapping his arms around his beloved wife and held her. Slowly, as the potion made it's way through her veins, Melyanna started to relax. Her legs and arms felt heavy as the potion quickly started to work on the exhausted elf. As Azeron watched, his wife slipped into the restful trance that Thrand had promised the potion would bring. That night there were no horrible images to startle her out of her rest. |
| Melyanna carefully climbed over the fallen
trunk of what had once been a glorious oak but now provided shelter for
the small creatures that lived in the undergrowth of the ancient forest.
Exhausted, she leaned against the tree trying to catch her breath.
Melyanna pulled a small leather jug from her pack, carefully pried off
the stopper and greedily drank the cool water. At this rate, it will
be night before I reach Gertrude's hut, she thought to herself,
absently resting her hand on her belly. She rested for a while, the
familiar sounds of the forest lulling her senses.
It was the sudden stillness that alerted her to the fact that something was wrong. As she listened, her keen hearing picked up the sounds of footsteps behind her. Whoever they belonged to was suddenly crashing through the bushes behind her. Startled Melyanna turned and found herself almost face to face with the ugliest troll she had ever seen. She stood there frozen for what seemed like hours, staring into the vicious eyes. Shaking herself, she chanted the words of power Corp Por. The troll barely moved beneath the jolt, before he rushed at her, swinging his massive mace at her. She chanted the words again Corp Por but the weapon striking her shoulder disturbing her concentration. Pain shot through her as he struck her again. Melyanna started to chant In Vas Mani. She cast the healing spell on herself, succeeding just as the troll struck her again. Something was wrong, she hadn't healed herself at all, but seemed to have poisoned herself instead. Giving up on her fight with the troll, Melyanna took off running. Behind her, she heard the troll chasing her, taunting her cowardice in his guttural growls. She kept running, fighting off the nausea the poison caused. She ducked behind a tree, hoping the troll hadn't noticed her. Biting her lip against the pain of her wounds, and the poison flowing through her veins, the wounded elf heard the troll crushing through the bushes as he ran past her, so intent on his prey he didn't realize he had lost her. Soon the troll's curses trailed off as he ran further away from her hiding place. Maybe I misspoke the spell... she thought to herself as she murmured the words that she hoped would cure her. An Nox. Relief coursed through her as the spell succeeded in curing the poison. Unwilling to chance running into the troll again, Melyanna took off at a run towards the midwife's hut. Each jolting step sent pain shooting through her as the blood from her wounds flowed freely, saturating her clothing and leaving a tale tell trail in her wake. A short while later, she stumbled into the clearing that held the hut she sought. Hoarsely she called out the midwife's name Gertrude! before collapsing a short distance from the door. |
| Pain. That was the first thing Melyanna felt
as she floated back to consciousness. The next was the soft, cool cloth
that mopped her brow. “Mmmm...that feels good,” she murmured
hoarsely.
Soft laughter answered her as an unfamiliar voice spoke. “Does it now child? That is a good sign, ye had me worried.” Melyanna heard the woman move across the room and took a few moments to try to gather her bearings. There was a pungent odor to the room. Garlic mixed with mints, which mingled with the earthy mustiness of the room. The midwife... the hoarse words were murmured so softly the woman across the room missed them. Opening her eyes, she looked around the small hut. Her vision was a bit fuzzy, but Melyanna attributed that to the horrible headache she had. Across the room, at a small workbench, sat the elderly woman. She was human, and Melyanna could not guess her age. She appeared positively ancient. Great leathery wrinkles covered the kindly face. Soft brown eyes peered out from beneath delicately arched brows. Tied back in an efficient braid, the pure white hair reached to Gertrude's hips. “Yer finally awake, child.” Gertrude smiled, revealing a nearly toothless grin. “M'name is Gertrude and who might ye be, child?” she inquired, arching a brow. Melyanna tried to focus her eyes on Gertrude's face, but she still remained slightly out of focus. “I am Melyanna Lindor, how long have I been here arwenamin?” The woman smiled a bit but didn't answer right away. She looked through her jars gathering various herbs and putting them in her stone mortar. Taking the pestle, the gnarled hands ground the herb and water mixture into a paste. Gathering up the clean cloths she would use as bandages, Gertrude returned to the bed and her patient. Settling into the chair next to the bed, Gertrude slowly removed the bandage from Melyanna's wounded shoulder, gingerly pulling when it stuck to the wound. “Ye arrived last eve, child, and tis now nearly supper time. Ye've a nasty gash on yer shoulder, but the arm is nay broken. Now perhaps ye will tell me why ye came all the way out here?” Melyanna focused as best she could on the woman, the fuzzy haze seemed to focus about the elder's head, softening her features. “I was told you are the best midwife in the area... and I have come to you for advice... well... I think I may be with child,” her voice trailed off into the softest of whispers. Gertrude nodded and asked her a few questions about her cycle. “Well, I can examine ye, child, and we shall see,” she said as she started gently probing and pushing at Melyanna's belly. A short while later, Gertrude shook her head. “I am sorry child, ye are nay with child. But ye do need yer rest. Sip this tea, it will help ye.” Disappointment filled Melyanna as Gertrude's words settled in. She had hoped that was what was wrong with her. Melyanna sipped the tea and before she knew it, began to relax. As she slipped into the herbal induced trance, Melyanna's last thoughts reached out to Azeron. I am sorry mela... |
| Azeron made his way south, stopping only
briefly at the Chaos shrine. He dismounted, and pulled an apple out of
his pack, feeding it to his horse, Cyn. As she munched noisily on the
fruit, Azeron looked at his old runebook — now an artifact made
useless by the nature of the facets. If his old rune to the hidden city
had still worked in these new lands, this journey would have been much
quicker. He leaned back, trying to crack his back in a stretching
motion. As he did, he felt the blood flow, sending feeling back into his
posterior. It had been a long ride.
He took a moment, looking at Cyn, to remember days gone by when he refused to ride a horse, preferring to travel everywhere on foot. Amanda had teased him about that, pointing out how much he was willing to change because of his love for Melyanna. In the end, he hadn't seen the harm in it. He loved Mely far more than he disliked riding. And Cyn was a gentle mount at any rate. Turning, he took in the vision of the mountains. “The Serpent’s Spine” it was called — a mountain chain running from Yew to Britain to Trinsic. It symbolized the backbone of Britannia, with Justice as her head, Compassion in her heart, and Honor to guide her feet. He thought about events of late, and wondered if the Britannia that his father had told him of still existed. Those thoughts were pushed quickly aside, however, giving way to more pressing matters. It would be a hard ride up those slopes. He had brought extra healing reagents to treat Cyn should she lose her footing on the winding mountain path. But whatever the cost, he had to make it through the maze of caverns and ledges. He had to find his way to Wind. He hoped Khyrian would be there when he arrived. The longer he traveled, the more he came convinced that Melyanna’s health depended on it. |
| It had nearly been a week since Azeron had
left in search of Khyrian. Melyanna stood at the window looking out over
ocean, lost in thought. Since she had returned from Gertrude's hut,
Melyanna had finally admitted to herself, and Azeron, that something was
not right. She had gone to visit the midwife in the hopes that she was
with child, which would have explained the strange symptoms she was
having. But Gertrude had told her that was not the case, she was not
with child. But if not a child, then what was wrong with her?
Something moved a short distance from the window, yet Melyanna found herself squinting to clearly make out the form of the starling. Mely absently rubbed her temple as a dull throbbing pain settled behind her eyes. Perhaps she had traveled one too many times between the facets. The world she had known, the one now called Felucca, was dying. Could it be something in the moonstones they used to travel between the lands? No one knew where they had come from nor how they worked. Yet they all used them without hesitation. But if it was the stones, would there not be more ill? she thought, settling into the stuffed chair next to the window. Melyanna leaned her head back and continued to rub her temples. She was so tired, yet she could not allow herself to relax enough to slip into reverie. She tried to focus her thoughts on Azeron. She missed him. They had not been apart since they had wed and this separation was harder than she had thought it would be. Her thoughts in a turmoil, exhaustion soon overtook her, lulling her into reverie. And with reverie...came the terror. |
The
Library Arcane: The Lord of the Dead