Session #3: Voras' Story
Voras’s Story
By E. C. Smith
© 2006
“Hmm. . .” Voras said as he settled in next to the fire, his voice a light baritone, full of energy, “a story. What story might I have that would be of interest to you my good dwarf? Might you be interested in tales of fabulous gold and gems? Or maybe tales of great feats in combat?”
“Well for me, I can always listen to tales of gold and gems, especially if they end up in my pouch, but for now, I would love to hear any tale as long as it is one that you like,” Gunnloda said, looking up from clearing her dinner gear, smiling at the dour guide that Count Galthor had generously provided the party.
“Yes, one of my favorite tales . . . I have one of those, . . .” Voras spoke hesitantly, looking at Gunnloda for a moment before turning his gaze to the fire slowly burning before him. “I must warn you though that it’s not a tale of great victories, nor of wondrous treasure, but a tale of the arrogance of youth. Its a tragic tale, yet, in the end, its a tale of simple deeds and of lasting consequences, . . .”
Voras’ voice trailed off as he continued to stare into the fire. The coals crackled in the silence as the other party members settled down to hear the tale.
“This tales begins as many such tales, with a young, untried hero setting out to make a name for himself, and a name he did achieve, in his way, though you would not know of him today. Many were the adventures he experienced, and many evil creatures met their fate at his hands, but the greatest adventure he encountered was one of love, for one day, while hunting the latest foe that had proven a threat to those whom he had sworn to protect, a dark and evil sorceress of such vile blackness that the earth beneath her feet withered and died, our young hero stumbled upon a long, lonely coast line where, with the westering sun sinking beneath the tall and forbidding mountains behind him, he discovered the most wonderful creature he had ever met.”
Voras paused for a moment, quickly rose to his feet and moved to the pile of dead wood that Gunnloda had gathered for the fire earlier that evening. He picked out a small branch, broke it in two and threw half onto the smoldering coals before him. With the other half, he prodded the red coals before tossing it too into the fire. As the dry wood rested upon the burning coals it quickly caught fire and the flames flared back to life.
“She was a vision of loveliness,” he continued, “and as our young hero watched, he became enthralled by her beauty, by her smile, and by every graceful movement as she danced among the waves crashing upon the beach. As he watched, he saw a bright light grow upon her breast, driving back the shadows of the young night. So enchanted was he by her dance and her beauty that from that very moment he called her his Bright Dancing Waves.”
Once again the dour guide paused as he prodded the fire with a new branch before tossing it too into the fire. The fire once again flared brighter as the new fuel caught in the flames. “The woman, turning to our hero, took one glance, deep into his eyes, and they fell in love . . .”
The fire crackled louder in the silence as Voras paused once again. The sound of some small creature splashing in the water some distance out in the marsh that stretched out all about the hillock upon which the party had camped. Voras quickly turned his head, listening to the sound, but just as quickly turned his attention back to the fire, then to Gunnloda.
“But this is not a tale of love, but a tale of what became of our two lovers, for as our hero and his new found love celebrated their joining, they built a great castle along the coast where they had met, and there, they settled into a peaceful and carefree life.”
Voras stepped back from the fire, slowly looking at each of his rapt listeners as he continued, “As time passed, our hero and his new bride delighted in learning about each other. Dancing Waves was impressed by our hero’s great skills at the hunt, and especially at his skills and accomplishments at defeating those who followed a darker path. Indeed, his list of victories was impressive. In turn, our hero was delighted by the great store of knowledge that his new bride held, especially her knowledge of healing and the healing arts. So too was he amazed and pleased to find that his new bride was a favored one of her faith and that the bright light that burned so brightly from the medallion on her breast was proof of the love she held for her faith, and the love her god held for her.”
“ But all too soon the hero’s joy and happiness was joined by an uneasy sense of foreboding, for had he not sworn to protect those in need? Yet our young hero chose to ignore those feelings and to rejoice in his Bright Dancing Waves, but there came a day when his restful peace was broken by a stark and frightful vision. While resting one night, his dreams of home and happiness were shattered by darkness as a great shadow fell over his home and he felt the cries of those whom he had sworn to protect, yet had abandoned.” Voras paused for a moment then resumed his tale. “In fright and anguish, our hero woke to the pleasing caress of his wife’s hand as she soothed his troubled brow. The anguish in his heart calmed and peace returned, but still he remembered the dream, and our hero swore to return to his prior vigilance. Then our hero’s wife, the one whom he loved more than anything in the world, gave him the greatest gift he could have ever imagined as she told him that they were to have, not one, but three children.”
Voras knelt before the fire, staring into its depths as he continued the story. “Overcome with joy, our hero forgot his dark dream and his newly reaffirmed oath as he was to be father to three young lives. For months, he and his bride prepared for the coming of their children until their arrival was nearly upon them. It was then that our hero’s peaceful dreams where once again invaded by the great shadow, but this time it fell, not upon his home, but upon the land of those whom he had sworn to protect.”
Voras abruptly stood up again and began to pace as he continued his story. “Our hero woke with his oath ringing through his mind. He was torn between the duty he owed to those whom had come before, and the duty he owed to his wife and their coming children. His wife, knowing how his heart was being torn, urged him to visit his people to see if there was indeed trouble, and at her continued urging, he agreed, promising to return home as quickly as possible. As they were saying farewell, Dancing Waves removed the medallion from about her neck and placed it about his, the silver chain cool and comforting about his neck. ‘Take this token of my love for it will help guide you swiftly on your journey and will help bring you safely back to me.’ she said. They kissed one last kiss before he turned he turned and began his journey.”
Voras moved back to the fire, once again staring into its depths, pausing for a moment as if to recall his next words, “The distance that our hero had to travel was not far, but it was difficult, and dangerous, for he had to travel through the mountains, and any who are forced to travel through the mountains know the hazards to be found there, but traveling as swiftly as he could, our hero made it across the mountains to his previous home in just a few days. Once there, it took no time at all to find that his people were happy and undisturbed by any such troubles had he had foreseen. They had seen no sign of his dark shadow.”
“It was than that our hero felt a great blow upon his chest and a searing heat as the bright medallion about his neck grew blindingly hot and heavy, dragging our hero, first to his knees, and then to the ground. After a brief moment of pain, the sudden weight and tremendous heat vanished, leaving our hero lying on the ground, clutching the medallion to his breast. Slowly, he rose to his feet, holding the medallion out before him, anxious and worried as he searched for any sign as to what had happened. It was then that the vision came; a familiar vision as he once more saw the home he and his Bright Dancing Waves had built, first cast in the bright sunlight, then overcome by shadow, but in this vision, he saw his Dancing Waves standing beneath the arched entryway to their castle, a light shining about her as she strove to keep the shadow from entering. And though she shone with her own inner light, our hero knew in his heart that his love had given him the only shield that would protect her from the great dark shadow, she had given him her bright medallion, a gift from her god that carried his favor, and left herself defenseless before the darkness. As the vision played itself out in his mind, our hero saw his love fall back into the castle, step by step, as the shadow overwhelmed her. Our hero violently pulled the medallion from around his neck, breaking the chain which carried it, and the vision ended, but it was replaced with a desire greater than any he had ever felt, to return to his love, though he knew he could never make it there in time. He feared for the safety of his wife and their unborn children.”
Voras knelt once more beside the fire, picking up a fresh branch and prodding the flames back to life. “Our hero traveled long and hard, fore-going food or rest, or even sleep, with only one goal in his heart. To return home, to return to his Dancing Waves.” Voras paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts, and then continued, “When our hero returned home he could feel the change in the air, a stillness that brought even the tolling waves to quite stillness. As he crossed over the doorstep he felt a silence so deep and dark that it permeated the walls and floors throughout his home. In anguish, fearing, yet knowing, what he would find, he searched the once bright and peaceful home, a home built with love, yet now brought down by darkness.”
The party all bent forward as Voras dropped his voice, a cold, empty tone replacing his earlier vibrant and energetic baritone, “It was in the children’s chamber that he found them. His wife, his bright and beautiful Dancing Waves, lay dead, the shinning light of his life, and lying next to her, their infant children, all three brought into the dark and evil world before their time. Our hero, overcome with grief, fell to his knees, the once bright medallion, still clasped in his hands, slipped forgotten to the chamber floor, and ceased to see, or hear, or feel anything but the pain of his loss.”
Voras stopped speaking, the silence spread as each listener, dwarf, elf, halfling or human, took in Voras’ words. Voras stood, then slowly turned to look at his audience, searching their faces, each in their turn. After surveying each member of the party, he moved to the edge of the hillock upon which the party was camped and stared into the marsh beyond. The silence was interrupted by a cough as Caleb shifted nervously.
Voras turned back to the party and, staring up into the sky, continued the tale, his voice now tinged with pain, “There is no telling how many days had passed before our hero heard the call.”
Voras looked back to the fire and slowly moved towards it, “It started out as a buzzing in the back of his skull, seeming much like an itch bug, from these swamps about us, buzzing around his head, but it grew slowly until our hero could no longer ignore it and he slowly came out of his grief-stricken stupor. Our hero heard a voice, a soft, compassionate voice urging him to come outside. A woman’s voice, urging him to leave the pain and suffering behind, to leave his desolate, death filled home and to see what lay ahead of him. The call was tinged with darkness and pain, yet he did what it asked, rising slowly, hypnotically. Turning from the corpses of his wife and children, he slowly made his way to the front gate, and there, without looking back, he walked, for the last time, out of the home that he and his Bright Dancing Waves had built.”
Voras again knelt beside the fire, pulling a dagger from its belt sheath and began to prod the ground before the fire, his voice taking up an angry tone as he continued, “As our hero stepped outside of his home into the early evening darkness, the fresh salty air that Dancing Waves had loved so much was soured by a pungent, fetid odor; a strong smell of rotting vegetation and foul water. Our hero looked around to find the source of the odor, and, in the shadows before him, dimly illuminated by the stars above, saw a tall figure cloaked in utter darkness. ‘Do you approve of my handiwork?’ the once soothing voice took on a dark and twisted tone. Our hero stood in stunned stillness, his thoughts racing as he struggled to understand who or what he was looking at. ‘I understand you were looking for me’ the figure continued, ‘but I got tired of waiting for you and decided to come find you myself. I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home. Lovely wife, and such hospitality . . . and I just adored playing with your children. They were a delight.’ Understanding crushed down upon our hero as he realized that this was the great black sorceress that he had been hunting when, nearly three years before, he had stumbled upon his Bright Dancing Waves.“
With the mention of the black sorceress, Raecyn, who had turned to contemplate the stars above while she listened to his story, quickly turned to Voras and started to speak, but Voras, rising to his feet once more, the angry edge in his voice growing stronger, continued his tale, “Our hero was once again overcome by emotion, but this time it was rage that drove him forward. He jumped toward the sorceress, unleashing all of his anger and rage, bringing his weapons to bear with only one goal in mind . . . to rend the life from the one that had torn his world apart.”
Voras began pacing once again, “Our hero missed his mark as the sorceress flew into the air, dodging the blows that had slain many a dark creature before him, but our hero had tricks of his vile enemy. Our hero quickly reversed his charge and, launching himself into the air struck out, striking his foe a mighty blow; and yet the blow bounced off of the sorceress’ cloak of darkness. The battle raged for most of the night, with sorcerous magic reaching out and tearing at our hero’s defenses as the evil sorceress deftly moved from shadow to shadow, leading our hero on a long and exhausting chase. Our hero could not penetrate the dark shield that protected her, and with each passing moment, our hero’s defenses began to fail, exhaustion nipping at his heels like a hound. Finally, as the sun began to rise, and with exhaustion bringing our hero to ground, the dark sorceress struck a final, deadly blow, casting her evil magic upon our hero, draining our hero’s remaining strength an adding it to her own. As final darkness settled in about our hero, his last vision was of the sun rising behind his home, the tomb for his beautiful Dancing Waves and their three children, with the dark shadow of their slayer standing above him.”
Voras fell silent, standing once more before the fire, staring into its depths. A tear rolled down Gunnloda’s cheek as she looked at Voras, considering her next words. “Is that why, as you say, we will not know this hero? Because he has died?”
Voras looked at Gunnloda, a fleeting look of surprise on his face, as if he had forgotten that he was speaking to an audience. “Dead? No, he didn’t die, but not for lack of trying on the sorceress’ part. No, the sorceress, in her arrogance, left our hero for dead, and he would have died, but there was help at hand, though our hero did not know this as he was taken by darkness. No, our hero did not die. He sank into dark and troubled dreams. Visions of such utter darkness that he later wished he had died, but there was one who found him and refused to let him die. One who nursed him and cared for him until he could survive on his own. No, our hero did not die and when he first regained consciousness it was to a living nightmare full of the grief that had left him frozen and rooted to the ground before, but now he was racked with guilt, knowing that it was his hunting of the black sorceress that had brought doom down upon his wife and unborn children. No, he did not die, but he wished he had. And yet she would not let him.”
Voras knelt down by the fire once more. “When our hero first saw her he thought she was part of his nightmares. She was small, and ugly by most accounts, at least to human sensibilities, but more importantly, she would not let him die. He pled with her for days, ‘let me die!’ but she refused, commanding him to stay, and our hero was in no condition to refuse her commands. She was a healer among her clann, and as she poked and prodded our hero, she fed him one concoction after another, trying to find the right combination to help him. Finally, after a few days, and many different concoctions, our hero fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he once again awoke, our hero was stronger, and he was no longer racked with the pain of his loss and his guilt. Not that he did not still feel the loss and guilt, but he had begun to heal, both in body and in spirit. With his newly returned strength, our hero tried to rise from his bed, but found that he was still too weak. His nurse approached tentatively at first, wary of the stranger that she had taken in, and indeed, as our hero continued his recovery, she became more timid and shy. Indeed, as his recovery continued, the efforts of our hero’s savior were supplemented by the efforts of the other members of her clann. Full recovery took months, and even then our hero was reluctant to leave, but he knew that he must, for though the clann that had saved his life showed all the signs of the industrious character that was their kind’s nature, they were few in number and were having problems providing for his needs. As he healed and gained in strength, he in turn began to wander the lands near the clann’s village, each day traveling further and further, until he had become familiar with the area about their home. He also began to bring back what game he could find, hoping to pay his nurse and her people back for the care they had provide him. But still it was not enough.”
“There came a day when, while wandering far from the clann’s home, our hero decided it was time to leave, so upon his return, he sought out his nurse to inform her of his decision and to thank her, and her people, for his life, but when he returned to the village he found it empty. Our hero became anxious as visions passed through his head of his nurse, horribly slain along with her entire village, sacrificed, as had been his wife and unborn children, all for the sin of saving his life, nursing him back to health. Frantically our hero searched until he found dim signs of a trail leading up into the mountains. Our hero followed the trail for miles as it wound its way higher and higher into the mountains, until it finally ended at the head of a small valley, dead ending at a solid cliff face. Our hero was perplexed at first, for by now he knew that this was indeed the path that the village folk had taken, so he searched high and low until he found a small cave entrance behind a large stone. Rolling the stone aside, our hero made his way clumsily into the tunnel.”
“Our hero followed the tunnel through its winding path, struggling to get through several places where it shrank down to a space barely big enough for him to squeeze through, but he finally made it through to the other side where the tunnel opened up into a great cauldron of stone, the bright noon sun shinning down upon the barren floor, its walls tall, stark cliffs, rising to meet the sky. And there, on the opposite end of the cauldron, was his nurse and her gathered clan.”
Voras stood once more and continued, “They were all kneeling, his nurse forefront, before a great alter when, as he watched, she rose, turned to face him and signaled him to approach. Silently, the clann folk cleared a pathway to the alter. He slowly walked forward and when he reached his nurse, she gracefully bowed and, removing a chain from about her neck, handed it to our hero. Paralyzed at first by fear what he would find, yet knowing, our hero reached out and took the chain. The medallion bore a single bright star before a dim star field, a medallion nearly identical to that which his Dancing Waves had worn, a medallion that now lay among his dead wife’s bones in their empty and deserted home. This medallion was smaller, yet it shone with the same bright light that his Dancing Waves’ had shone. Our hero passed the small medallion back to his nurse and as she took it back, she passed to him another medallion. This medallion though was different. It didn’t shine in the bright sunlight. No, this medallion was simpler, crafted out of bronze and bearing a simple runic inscription. Our hero understood the message. It was time for him to leave. He took the new medallion and placed it around his neck and, turning to look at the gathered folk, and then back to his nurse, with tears in his eyes, he spoke . . . ‘You came to me in my moment of need and risked your life to succor mine. For this I cast what blessings remains of my life upon you. May you and your descendant prosper. And to your people’ he said as he once again turned to the gathered folk, ‘I make this promise to which I will dedicate my life and will hold myself to for as long as I live . . I promise that you will prosper and thrive.’ Our hero then stepped out to the center of the cauldron and turning his vision skyward into the bright sun overhead, holding the bronze medallion up so that the full light of the sun would fall upon it, ‘And to my beloved Bright Dancing Waves, I will not rest until your death has been paid for, but not for revenge, but rather for the love that you gave to me, for my heart will never forgive me for leaving you to your fate.’ And now our hero turned to the great alter and, kneeling, placed his head against the great alter before him, ‘and to you great one, though I am unworthy of your love, I will strive to earn at least your forgiveness.’ And that ends this tale.”
As silence fell, Voras looked around at the party of enraptured listeners, then, slowly walked towards the edge of the hillock. Silence spread as he moved, finally being broken by Lu as she hesitantly asked “But what happened to the hero?”
Voras stopped, “He left, and this tale ends, though the consequences are still being felt.”
Voras looked out across the moon lit marsh before turning back to the party one final time. “For now, you should all take Caleb’s lead and get some sleep.” At mention of his name, the dwarven vindicator rolled over and snorted loudly, settling into a steady, soft snore. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Make sure your guard is set or you may find yourself defending your dwarven friend from those creatures disturbed by his sleeping habits. I will be back in the morning.” And Voras slipped into the darkness.
By E. C. Smith
© 2006
“Hmm. . .” Voras said as he settled in next to the fire, his voice a light baritone, full of energy, “a story. What story might I have that would be of interest to you my good dwarf? Might you be interested in tales of fabulous gold and gems? Or maybe tales of great feats in combat?”
“Well for me, I can always listen to tales of gold and gems, especially if they end up in my pouch, but for now, I would love to hear any tale as long as it is one that you like,” Gunnloda said, looking up from clearing her dinner gear, smiling at the dour guide that Count Galthor had generously provided the party.
“Yes, one of my favorite tales . . . I have one of those, . . .” Voras spoke hesitantly, looking at Gunnloda for a moment before turning his gaze to the fire slowly burning before him. “I must warn you though that it’s not a tale of great victories, nor of wondrous treasure, but a tale of the arrogance of youth. Its a tragic tale, yet, in the end, its a tale of simple deeds and of lasting consequences, . . .”
Voras’ voice trailed off as he continued to stare into the fire. The coals crackled in the silence as the other party members settled down to hear the tale.
“This tales begins as many such tales, with a young, untried hero setting out to make a name for himself, and a name he did achieve, in his way, though you would not know of him today. Many were the adventures he experienced, and many evil creatures met their fate at his hands, but the greatest adventure he encountered was one of love, for one day, while hunting the latest foe that had proven a threat to those whom he had sworn to protect, a dark and evil sorceress of such vile blackness that the earth beneath her feet withered and died, our young hero stumbled upon a long, lonely coast line where, with the westering sun sinking beneath the tall and forbidding mountains behind him, he discovered the most wonderful creature he had ever met.”
Voras paused for a moment, quickly rose to his feet and moved to the pile of dead wood that Gunnloda had gathered for the fire earlier that evening. He picked out a small branch, broke it in two and threw half onto the smoldering coals before him. With the other half, he prodded the red coals before tossing it too into the fire. As the dry wood rested upon the burning coals it quickly caught fire and the flames flared back to life.
“She was a vision of loveliness,” he continued, “and as our young hero watched, he became enthralled by her beauty, by her smile, and by every graceful movement as she danced among the waves crashing upon the beach. As he watched, he saw a bright light grow upon her breast, driving back the shadows of the young night. So enchanted was he by her dance and her beauty that from that very moment he called her his Bright Dancing Waves.”
Once again the dour guide paused as he prodded the fire with a new branch before tossing it too into the fire. The fire once again flared brighter as the new fuel caught in the flames. “The woman, turning to our hero, took one glance, deep into his eyes, and they fell in love . . .”
The fire crackled louder in the silence as Voras paused once again. The sound of some small creature splashing in the water some distance out in the marsh that stretched out all about the hillock upon which the party had camped. Voras quickly turned his head, listening to the sound, but just as quickly turned his attention back to the fire, then to Gunnloda.
“But this is not a tale of love, but a tale of what became of our two lovers, for as our hero and his new found love celebrated their joining, they built a great castle along the coast where they had met, and there, they settled into a peaceful and carefree life.”
Voras stepped back from the fire, slowly looking at each of his rapt listeners as he continued, “As time passed, our hero and his new bride delighted in learning about each other. Dancing Waves was impressed by our hero’s great skills at the hunt, and especially at his skills and accomplishments at defeating those who followed a darker path. Indeed, his list of victories was impressive. In turn, our hero was delighted by the great store of knowledge that his new bride held, especially her knowledge of healing and the healing arts. So too was he amazed and pleased to find that his new bride was a favored one of her faith and that the bright light that burned so brightly from the medallion on her breast was proof of the love she held for her faith, and the love her god held for her.”
“ But all too soon the hero’s joy and happiness was joined by an uneasy sense of foreboding, for had he not sworn to protect those in need? Yet our young hero chose to ignore those feelings and to rejoice in his Bright Dancing Waves, but there came a day when his restful peace was broken by a stark and frightful vision. While resting one night, his dreams of home and happiness were shattered by darkness as a great shadow fell over his home and he felt the cries of those whom he had sworn to protect, yet had abandoned.” Voras paused for a moment then resumed his tale. “In fright and anguish, our hero woke to the pleasing caress of his wife’s hand as she soothed his troubled brow. The anguish in his heart calmed and peace returned, but still he remembered the dream, and our hero swore to return to his prior vigilance. Then our hero’s wife, the one whom he loved more than anything in the world, gave him the greatest gift he could have ever imagined as she told him that they were to have, not one, but three children.”
Voras knelt before the fire, staring into its depths as he continued the story. “Overcome with joy, our hero forgot his dark dream and his newly reaffirmed oath as he was to be father to three young lives. For months, he and his bride prepared for the coming of their children until their arrival was nearly upon them. It was then that our hero’s peaceful dreams where once again invaded by the great shadow, but this time it fell, not upon his home, but upon the land of those whom he had sworn to protect.”
Voras abruptly stood up again and began to pace as he continued his story. “Our hero woke with his oath ringing through his mind. He was torn between the duty he owed to those whom had come before, and the duty he owed to his wife and their coming children. His wife, knowing how his heart was being torn, urged him to visit his people to see if there was indeed trouble, and at her continued urging, he agreed, promising to return home as quickly as possible. As they were saying farewell, Dancing Waves removed the medallion from about her neck and placed it about his, the silver chain cool and comforting about his neck. ‘Take this token of my love for it will help guide you swiftly on your journey and will help bring you safely back to me.’ she said. They kissed one last kiss before he turned he turned and began his journey.”
Voras moved back to the fire, once again staring into its depths, pausing for a moment as if to recall his next words, “The distance that our hero had to travel was not far, but it was difficult, and dangerous, for he had to travel through the mountains, and any who are forced to travel through the mountains know the hazards to be found there, but traveling as swiftly as he could, our hero made it across the mountains to his previous home in just a few days. Once there, it took no time at all to find that his people were happy and undisturbed by any such troubles had he had foreseen. They had seen no sign of his dark shadow.”
“It was than that our hero felt a great blow upon his chest and a searing heat as the bright medallion about his neck grew blindingly hot and heavy, dragging our hero, first to his knees, and then to the ground. After a brief moment of pain, the sudden weight and tremendous heat vanished, leaving our hero lying on the ground, clutching the medallion to his breast. Slowly, he rose to his feet, holding the medallion out before him, anxious and worried as he searched for any sign as to what had happened. It was then that the vision came; a familiar vision as he once more saw the home he and his Bright Dancing Waves had built, first cast in the bright sunlight, then overcome by shadow, but in this vision, he saw his Dancing Waves standing beneath the arched entryway to their castle, a light shining about her as she strove to keep the shadow from entering. And though she shone with her own inner light, our hero knew in his heart that his love had given him the only shield that would protect her from the great dark shadow, she had given him her bright medallion, a gift from her god that carried his favor, and left herself defenseless before the darkness. As the vision played itself out in his mind, our hero saw his love fall back into the castle, step by step, as the shadow overwhelmed her. Our hero violently pulled the medallion from around his neck, breaking the chain which carried it, and the vision ended, but it was replaced with a desire greater than any he had ever felt, to return to his love, though he knew he could never make it there in time. He feared for the safety of his wife and their unborn children.”
Voras knelt once more beside the fire, picking up a fresh branch and prodding the flames back to life. “Our hero traveled long and hard, fore-going food or rest, or even sleep, with only one goal in his heart. To return home, to return to his Dancing Waves.” Voras paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts, and then continued, “When our hero returned home he could feel the change in the air, a stillness that brought even the tolling waves to quite stillness. As he crossed over the doorstep he felt a silence so deep and dark that it permeated the walls and floors throughout his home. In anguish, fearing, yet knowing, what he would find, he searched the once bright and peaceful home, a home built with love, yet now brought down by darkness.”
The party all bent forward as Voras dropped his voice, a cold, empty tone replacing his earlier vibrant and energetic baritone, “It was in the children’s chamber that he found them. His wife, his bright and beautiful Dancing Waves, lay dead, the shinning light of his life, and lying next to her, their infant children, all three brought into the dark and evil world before their time. Our hero, overcome with grief, fell to his knees, the once bright medallion, still clasped in his hands, slipped forgotten to the chamber floor, and ceased to see, or hear, or feel anything but the pain of his loss.”
Voras stopped speaking, the silence spread as each listener, dwarf, elf, halfling or human, took in Voras’ words. Voras stood, then slowly turned to look at his audience, searching their faces, each in their turn. After surveying each member of the party, he moved to the edge of the hillock upon which the party was camped and stared into the marsh beyond. The silence was interrupted by a cough as Caleb shifted nervously.
Voras turned back to the party and, staring up into the sky, continued the tale, his voice now tinged with pain, “There is no telling how many days had passed before our hero heard the call.”
Voras looked back to the fire and slowly moved towards it, “It started out as a buzzing in the back of his skull, seeming much like an itch bug, from these swamps about us, buzzing around his head, but it grew slowly until our hero could no longer ignore it and he slowly came out of his grief-stricken stupor. Our hero heard a voice, a soft, compassionate voice urging him to come outside. A woman’s voice, urging him to leave the pain and suffering behind, to leave his desolate, death filled home and to see what lay ahead of him. The call was tinged with darkness and pain, yet he did what it asked, rising slowly, hypnotically. Turning from the corpses of his wife and children, he slowly made his way to the front gate, and there, without looking back, he walked, for the last time, out of the home that he and his Bright Dancing Waves had built.”
Voras again knelt beside the fire, pulling a dagger from its belt sheath and began to prod the ground before the fire, his voice taking up an angry tone as he continued, “As our hero stepped outside of his home into the early evening darkness, the fresh salty air that Dancing Waves had loved so much was soured by a pungent, fetid odor; a strong smell of rotting vegetation and foul water. Our hero looked around to find the source of the odor, and, in the shadows before him, dimly illuminated by the stars above, saw a tall figure cloaked in utter darkness. ‘Do you approve of my handiwork?’ the once soothing voice took on a dark and twisted tone. Our hero stood in stunned stillness, his thoughts racing as he struggled to understand who or what he was looking at. ‘I understand you were looking for me’ the figure continued, ‘but I got tired of waiting for you and decided to come find you myself. I hope you don’t mind. I made myself at home. Lovely wife, and such hospitality . . . and I just adored playing with your children. They were a delight.’ Understanding crushed down upon our hero as he realized that this was the great black sorceress that he had been hunting when, nearly three years before, he had stumbled upon his Bright Dancing Waves.“
With the mention of the black sorceress, Raecyn, who had turned to contemplate the stars above while she listened to his story, quickly turned to Voras and started to speak, but Voras, rising to his feet once more, the angry edge in his voice growing stronger, continued his tale, “Our hero was once again overcome by emotion, but this time it was rage that drove him forward. He jumped toward the sorceress, unleashing all of his anger and rage, bringing his weapons to bear with only one goal in mind . . . to rend the life from the one that had torn his world apart.”
Voras began pacing once again, “Our hero missed his mark as the sorceress flew into the air, dodging the blows that had slain many a dark creature before him, but our hero had tricks of his vile enemy. Our hero quickly reversed his charge and, launching himself into the air struck out, striking his foe a mighty blow; and yet the blow bounced off of the sorceress’ cloak of darkness. The battle raged for most of the night, with sorcerous magic reaching out and tearing at our hero’s defenses as the evil sorceress deftly moved from shadow to shadow, leading our hero on a long and exhausting chase. Our hero could not penetrate the dark shield that protected her, and with each passing moment, our hero’s defenses began to fail, exhaustion nipping at his heels like a hound. Finally, as the sun began to rise, and with exhaustion bringing our hero to ground, the dark sorceress struck a final, deadly blow, casting her evil magic upon our hero, draining our hero’s remaining strength an adding it to her own. As final darkness settled in about our hero, his last vision was of the sun rising behind his home, the tomb for his beautiful Dancing Waves and their three children, with the dark shadow of their slayer standing above him.”
Voras fell silent, standing once more before the fire, staring into its depths. A tear rolled down Gunnloda’s cheek as she looked at Voras, considering her next words. “Is that why, as you say, we will not know this hero? Because he has died?”
Voras looked at Gunnloda, a fleeting look of surprise on his face, as if he had forgotten that he was speaking to an audience. “Dead? No, he didn’t die, but not for lack of trying on the sorceress’ part. No, the sorceress, in her arrogance, left our hero for dead, and he would have died, but there was help at hand, though our hero did not know this as he was taken by darkness. No, our hero did not die. He sank into dark and troubled dreams. Visions of such utter darkness that he later wished he had died, but there was one who found him and refused to let him die. One who nursed him and cared for him until he could survive on his own. No, our hero did not die and when he first regained consciousness it was to a living nightmare full of the grief that had left him frozen and rooted to the ground before, but now he was racked with guilt, knowing that it was his hunting of the black sorceress that had brought doom down upon his wife and unborn children. No, he did not die, but he wished he had. And yet she would not let him.”
Voras knelt down by the fire once more. “When our hero first saw her he thought she was part of his nightmares. She was small, and ugly by most accounts, at least to human sensibilities, but more importantly, she would not let him die. He pled with her for days, ‘let me die!’ but she refused, commanding him to stay, and our hero was in no condition to refuse her commands. She was a healer among her clann, and as she poked and prodded our hero, she fed him one concoction after another, trying to find the right combination to help him. Finally, after a few days, and many different concoctions, our hero fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he once again awoke, our hero was stronger, and he was no longer racked with the pain of his loss and his guilt. Not that he did not still feel the loss and guilt, but he had begun to heal, both in body and in spirit. With his newly returned strength, our hero tried to rise from his bed, but found that he was still too weak. His nurse approached tentatively at first, wary of the stranger that she had taken in, and indeed, as our hero continued his recovery, she became more timid and shy. Indeed, as his recovery continued, the efforts of our hero’s savior were supplemented by the efforts of the other members of her clann. Full recovery took months, and even then our hero was reluctant to leave, but he knew that he must, for though the clann that had saved his life showed all the signs of the industrious character that was their kind’s nature, they were few in number and were having problems providing for his needs. As he healed and gained in strength, he in turn began to wander the lands near the clann’s village, each day traveling further and further, until he had become familiar with the area about their home. He also began to bring back what game he could find, hoping to pay his nurse and her people back for the care they had provide him. But still it was not enough.”
“There came a day when, while wandering far from the clann’s home, our hero decided it was time to leave, so upon his return, he sought out his nurse to inform her of his decision and to thank her, and her people, for his life, but when he returned to the village he found it empty. Our hero became anxious as visions passed through his head of his nurse, horribly slain along with her entire village, sacrificed, as had been his wife and unborn children, all for the sin of saving his life, nursing him back to health. Frantically our hero searched until he found dim signs of a trail leading up into the mountains. Our hero followed the trail for miles as it wound its way higher and higher into the mountains, until it finally ended at the head of a small valley, dead ending at a solid cliff face. Our hero was perplexed at first, for by now he knew that this was indeed the path that the village folk had taken, so he searched high and low until he found a small cave entrance behind a large stone. Rolling the stone aside, our hero made his way clumsily into the tunnel.”
“Our hero followed the tunnel through its winding path, struggling to get through several places where it shrank down to a space barely big enough for him to squeeze through, but he finally made it through to the other side where the tunnel opened up into a great cauldron of stone, the bright noon sun shinning down upon the barren floor, its walls tall, stark cliffs, rising to meet the sky. And there, on the opposite end of the cauldron, was his nurse and her gathered clan.”
Voras stood once more and continued, “They were all kneeling, his nurse forefront, before a great alter when, as he watched, she rose, turned to face him and signaled him to approach. Silently, the clann folk cleared a pathway to the alter. He slowly walked forward and when he reached his nurse, she gracefully bowed and, removing a chain from about her neck, handed it to our hero. Paralyzed at first by fear what he would find, yet knowing, our hero reached out and took the chain. The medallion bore a single bright star before a dim star field, a medallion nearly identical to that which his Dancing Waves had worn, a medallion that now lay among his dead wife’s bones in their empty and deserted home. This medallion was smaller, yet it shone with the same bright light that his Dancing Waves’ had shone. Our hero passed the small medallion back to his nurse and as she took it back, she passed to him another medallion. This medallion though was different. It didn’t shine in the bright sunlight. No, this medallion was simpler, crafted out of bronze and bearing a simple runic inscription. Our hero understood the message. It was time for him to leave. He took the new medallion and placed it around his neck and, turning to look at the gathered folk, and then back to his nurse, with tears in his eyes, he spoke . . . ‘You came to me in my moment of need and risked your life to succor mine. For this I cast what blessings remains of my life upon you. May you and your descendant prosper. And to your people’ he said as he once again turned to the gathered folk, ‘I make this promise to which I will dedicate my life and will hold myself to for as long as I live . . I promise that you will prosper and thrive.’ Our hero then stepped out to the center of the cauldron and turning his vision skyward into the bright sun overhead, holding the bronze medallion up so that the full light of the sun would fall upon it, ‘And to my beloved Bright Dancing Waves, I will not rest until your death has been paid for, but not for revenge, but rather for the love that you gave to me, for my heart will never forgive me for leaving you to your fate.’ And now our hero turned to the great alter and, kneeling, placed his head against the great alter before him, ‘and to you great one, though I am unworthy of your love, I will strive to earn at least your forgiveness.’ And that ends this tale.”
As silence fell, Voras looked around at the party of enraptured listeners, then, slowly walked towards the edge of the hillock. Silence spread as he moved, finally being broken by Lu as she hesitantly asked “But what happened to the hero?”
Voras stopped, “He left, and this tale ends, though the consequences are still being felt.”
Voras looked out across the moon lit marsh before turning back to the party one final time. “For now, you should all take Caleb’s lead and get some sleep.” At mention of his name, the dwarven vindicator rolled over and snorted loudly, settling into a steady, soft snore. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Make sure your guard is set or you may find yourself defending your dwarven friend from those creatures disturbed by his sleeping habits. I will be back in the morning.” And Voras slipped into the darkness.
posted by Eric at 11:09 AM
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