Lift the Curse, Wake the Dead

[Alydia Ettermire]

A response to To Find a Mockingbird (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27999-To-Find-a-Mockingbard-(Writing-Competition)&p=235559&highlight=#post235559). A Raiaera Reborn thread. Glorfindel used with gracious permission from Flames of Hyperion.

The Corpse War had blighted some of Althanas’s most beautiful lands. Ash and rot smothered several thousand square miles of old green woods and rolling fertile plains, cursed by the Necromancer to only spew forth death and pestilence. Merely breathing the spores that hung heavy in the air could corrupt most living beings into shambling undead abominations. Thus far, the plague had resisted even the most powerful of curative magics, though researchers had toiled relentlessly since the fall of Xem’zund to develop a counter.

Several parties were making progress, however slow. One group in particular could nearly cure once-living beings of the affliction. Teams in their employ regularly risked their lives to corral living corpses for research and eventual restoration. Granted, this faction was small and regularly had to fend off hostile advances from both the stoic old guard of the Raiaeran meritocracy and those Alerians who also researched cures that they might claim the land from their decimated cousins.

Two of the three elves who walked the dusty dimness of the Plaguelands affiliated themselves with the small multinational factions looking for a cure or collection of cures. They walked in shining armor, alert senses probing for danger. Nervous hands gripped sword hilts, well conscious of the difference between charging through occupied land in time of war and slinking through infested land in its aftermath. Especially since the final member of the group was as good as unarmed.

All three elves wore heavy iron masks fitted with air filters. The cumbersome devices were an Alerian invention, designed to extend the longevity and productivity of workers in the mines of Kachuk. Though they smelled of stale sweat and bitter metal, they also allowed the few who could acquire them to travel through the toxic lands of Raiaera without succumbing to affliction or death.

At their waists, each elf wore half a dozen cylindrical containers. Those that the male Bladesinger carried were blacker than the deepest night, as were half of those carried by the female. The rest were whiter than the summer clouds, empty and waiting to serve their purpose. These were of Raiaeran design, meant to safely contain lifted blight.

They had been created specifically for the use of one woman, arguably one of the oddest weapons in the Elven race’s fight to reclaim its land from Xem’zund’s foul taint. She had discovered her ability to cleanse the corruption before the end of the war, and though she was Alerian, it was for Raiaera’s sake that she now worked, mile by lonely mile, to cure it.

Or rather, it could be said, Alydia Ettermire worked for the sake of a few Raiaerans. The red-coated thief would stop at nothing to help the people in her organization. Pragmatically, she couldn’t help everyone. But if the children of her fallen friend were ever to return to their ancestral lands, if the people she called her own were ever to look out upon Corpse-Scarred land and see it chartreuse with new growth in their very long lifetimes…

She needed a better, faster way to cure this nation’s malady.

[Alydia Ettermire]

“That’s half a league since our last stop.”

The Bladesinger Glorfindel’s clear voice broke the group’s weary silence. He, along with Alydia and her accomplice Hyanda Lindir, had walked the scorched earth since dawn. A veteran of the Corpse War, he had served in the vaunted Legion of Light with the currently missing Ingwe Helyanwe along with Dexter Rous, another of Aly’s helpers. He had acquainted with the other two during the mad scramble to rescue the last survivors fromEluriand.

To call the Bladesinger’s initial reaction to the Alerian suspicious would be to call a Fallienese summer pleasantly warm or a Berevan winter mildly nippy. Gradually, though, they had earned each other’s respect. When his superiors had informed him of her request to escort her through the Plaguelands on the occasions she travelled through Raiaera, he had only barely grumbled about “that Tel’Gothra.”

The broad scarlet brim of Alydia’s hat flowed up and down with a nod of her black head. She kneeled, pressing gloved hands to the putrid soil. Shimmering shadows curled around her fingers and sank into the earth, stretching, seeking, stealing. The curse stuck fast, fighting and clinging like it always did. Each cleansing was a miniature war, the malice of the Necromancer fighting Alydia’s claim on the things she touched. Slowly, though, it relinquished its hold upon the land and surrendered to her will. Earth, water, and air gave up their pestilence with equal inevitability, swallowed whole by the shadows just within Aly’s grasp.

For long perspiring heartbeats the Raiaerans with her could see no difference, but they waited patiently. The dark elf’s gift was a miracle, but a slow one. At length the sickness drained from the land beneath their feet and the air cleared of the deadly spores.

When Aly lifted her hands, Hyanda was quick to fill them with an empty container. Pure white curdled black as curse and catalyst coagulated. The female Bladesinger secured the canister as soon as it was full, and the male removed his mask, drinking deeply from a canteen before offering it to the Alerian in the dirt.

He looked at her when she didn’t take it, storm blue eyes traveling over the sagging body and the hands that had settled on her mask without removing it. “Dark will fall soon,” he said, tactfully not mentioning her obvious exhaustion. She wouldn’t be able to walk to the edge of the newly-cleansed area, so they needed to stop anyway. “We can turn west in the morning before heading back to the south. We will have done all we can for this trip by the time we report back to base.”

Aly nodded, wordlessly thanking him for the respite. She needed the rest, but she was grateful that she didn’t have to be the one to call it. Ice blue eyes looked to the setting sun and to the haze that signaled the blighted land between her and the horizon.

We need a better cure.

[Alydia Ettermire]

The three elves sat wearily beneath a staked tarp, chewing on some famed Raiaeran waybread. A single small cake contributed enough vitamins and minerals to convince a healthy body to run for another day. After a few days, though, the lack of substance wore on both stomach and morale. To the two Raiaerans, they were a perfectly palatable part of long journeys. To the lone Alerian, they were dry crumbly little crackers formed too thick and too sweetened in a mocking attempt to make them edible. Still, she ate her pastry without complaint, too weary to forage for anything in land that had no nourishment to offer.

“How fast is the blight creeping back to the land we cleared last year?”

“It’s almost reclaimed half of its area,” Hyanda answered quietly. “You can take more curse per lift now, so this land might have a chance…”

Aly shook her head. “That I can do anything to combat the curse is the only reason I’m allowed into Raiaera. That it’s not permanent is the only reason I’m allowed to leave at will.” She sighed, leaning back on arms that were barely willing to hold her weight. “How is… oh, what’s his name? How is he progressing on an actual cure?”

“Fenaro Alchression,” Glorfindel supplied. “Slowly, but his work shows promise. He has been able to coax some new growth out of the dead land we cleared last year, but only in a small patch so far.”

“That’s good news, but I meant the one working on purifying the people turned directly from living to living dead.”

Both Raiaerans flinched at the reference to Finrod Siannodel. His work was highly controversial; most agreed that any sort of dead deserved to rest. No one knew if it was possible to bring the undead back to life. Very few were sure it was a responsible thing to do. Only those who had lost the people they held most dear fought for the research, and only a minority of them at that. A very small minority.

“Aly…” Hyanda’s soft voice floated delicately through the night’s warm air. “Even if he were close to a breakthrough, and even if we had Kelvar’s body, we don’t know if-”

“Is that not the point of trying?” Alydia’s voice held an edge nearly as sharp as Glorfindel’s sword. “Ask a question, observe and research, form a hypothesis, establish methods, see if they work and modify accordingly. If he can develop the magic, the Maliayas are not the only family who might benefit. I would think that any Raiaeran would jump at the chance to bring back his kinsmen.”

Glorfindel’s mouth narrowed into a thin line. “Every Raiaeran life is valuable, from the oldest elder to the unborn infant. But Siannodel’s work blends restorative and necromantic magics. It is dangerous and unethical. Let the dead rest. All of them.”

“Would you say that if Ingwe were among the dead?”

Glorfindel did not flinch at the Alerian’s demand, and his tone turned hard as stone. “Alydia, if I found my friend and he was a shambling corpse, I would do him the kindness of personally putting him to rest.”

Tense silence hung for a beat before the silver-plated Bladesinger stood, turning his eyes to the barren landscape. “Sleep. I will take first watch.”

[Alydia Ettermire]

Dawn broke reluctantly over the Plaguelands, sending the trio of elves trudging through landscape as bleak and barren as the Emyn Naug. Two gleamed like rays of sunlight sent to walk the earth, one rippled red as fire. Silence surrounded them with deafening clarity; not even the hot, dry wind brought sound to their keen ears.

The differences between their worldviews and the focus they held on their mission drowned out any desire to make conversation or attempt at cordiality. Each inch of land reclaimed from the defeated Necromancer was an inch of hope for the eventual restoration of Raiaera. After all the damage and despair, even so little as that was worthwhile.

Over the course of a long hike back to base, the eight remaining white canisters filled with black. The sun was well on its way to the horizon when the group had finished its weary work, and nearly a league of blighted Plaguelands stretched before them still. Alydia still had several days in Raiaera before she intended to depart once more for Dheathain, which meant that much more land would see cleansing before the thief ran out of time and containers. It was more than anyone else could currently manage. It would probably never be enough.

Three heavy, awkward masks fitted themselves over three finely-structured faces. Three weary pairs of boots stepped resignedly into the toxic haze that covered far too much of a once vibrant land.

Two gauntleted hands rested on gleaming sword pommels. With the Alerian’s duty done, the Bladesingers’ became that much more important. While abominations sometimes wandered into clean land in search of lives to take or destruction to cause, they tended to congregate in the Blight. Raids left the base regularly to fight off the creatures in the immediate vicinity, but the abrupt purification would have sent almost anything Corrupted scurrying like roaches from the light.

Meanwhile, an exhausted Alydia walked with her eyes turned to the ground, trusting the swords, songs, and senses of her escorts. So long as there was warm water to wash with and a comfortable place to sleep, she felt she wouldn’t even mind the agonizingly bland Raiaeran food waiting for her back at the research base.

Ever-alert Glorfindel watched the left, sharp-eyed Hyanda watched the right. Alydia, in her torpor, watched nothing at all, and so it was she stumbled over a large obstacle she completely failed to see. Her feet quickly found secure soil, and all three elves turned to see what had caught her.

[Alydia Ettermire]

It laid half buried in the dust, gray and black markings crisscrossing like spider webs over its skin. It was naked, blank eyes staring skyward in tormented accusation. It was the body of an elven male, very strangely dead.

“Don’t touch it!” Hyanda hissed when Aly knelt to examine the body. She reached a hand to pull the Alerian away, only for a gloved hand to wave her aside.

“I think we should take him back with us,” Aly’s voice echoed from behind her mask. She prodded the corpse’s arm roughly, then slapped his face. He gave her the exact response any sane person the world over would expect from a dead body: absolutely nothing.

Glorfindel’s hand tightened on his sword. “As heavily corrupted as he is, how is he not active?”

“And how is he so well preserved?” The former detective lifted the corpse’s arm, letting it fall limply to the ground. “This is not a fresh body, but he hasn’t decomposed and the area is too humid for desiccation. I think he could prove useful in the curative work some of your researchers are conducting. If we can solve him, we might move an overall cure forward by decades.”

“You mean find a way to bring back the dead.”

Alydia shrugged at Hyanda’s accusation. “Perhaps. He would make an interesting study, in any event. Wasn’t it you who told me that if anything might help, it’s worth seeking?” She waved her hand over the body’s face, trying to coax it into wakefulness if it was as undead as it ought to be.

“That doesn’t mean dabbling in necromancy! Are all Alerians so driven by results that they can’t consider the ethics of their actions?” The melodious elven voice echoed tinnily through the iron mask.

Alydia’s head turned sharply to her friend, eyes narrowing beneath the goggles. “While most of my people are more pragmatic than most of yours, that was uncalled for. Glorfindel, what are your thoughts?”

The Anebrelithian Bladesinger sighed, rubbing the unyielding iron over the bridge of his nose. “I think we have no time to tarry. This is not a decision for us, in any event. We should let the scientists and generals decide his fate. Alydia, you can destroy him if that is the decision?”

“Easily.”

“Will you?”

“Of course. I have no ability to work the forces of life and death. Nor do any of my associates.”

“Then bring him. It can hardly be any less ethical than the round-ups.”

At the agreement, the scarlet thief placed a hand on the corpse’s forehead, pulling him gently into the shadows that coiled at the edge of her grasp.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Finrod Siannodel hurried from the study he shared with three assistants to the lab he shared with two other researchers. Though the sun had almost set and the base was winding down for the night, an anomalous corrupted corpse was a discovery too important and exciting for him to leave for the dawn. He swept into the sterile quadrangle, long sandy hair and plain white robes flowing behind him.

He came to an abrupt stop when he saw the dark elf standing behind the table at which he studied the effect of the blight on the living. “What is that Tel’Gothra doing here?” His violet eyes glowered indignant daggers at Alydia. She had her uses, perhaps, but the filthy creature did not belong in his sight, much less in his workspace.

A single visible ice-blue eye rolled beneath the broad fedora brim; Alydia was well accustomed to the disdain with which the light elves held the dark, but it still exasperated her. She stood nonchalantly in the fastidiously clean space, surrounded by implements of both science and magic. Flanking her were Sintta Ilya - another researcher looking into ways to heal his homeland - and Glorfindel, who was ordered to escort Alydia when she was around anything of value. Just because she was a useful asset didn’t mean she wasn’t still a thief, after all.

It was the former who answered his colleague. “She has your new research subject in her possession, Finrod. The agreement made was that she keeps hold of the body until you have it safely in custody.”

A hand, pale even by Raiaeran standards, waved at the dark elf as though it was motioning a lazy servant to action or shooing away an annoying insect. When the target of its motion failed to move, the dagger-like mouth curled into a sneer. “Here I am, Tel’Gothra. Deliver your cargo and be gone.”

The two elves on either side of the Alerian exchanged a glance over her head. She merely stepped forward, hovering her hands above the cold gray granite slab. “I hope you know, Siannodel, that you are every bit as charming as a hagfish. Though, that might not be fair to the hagfish.” Darkness rippled into existence beneath her thin gloves, congealing into a solid shape and retracting when its job was done. In place of the shadows laid the corpse.

Finrod leaned over the body, examining the unusual specimen. “He was found in the Plaguelands?” He should have been up and howling, a mindless beast with an insatiable hunger. Instead he laid, Corrupted as Corruption, lively as a piece of lint.

“That is where the Cleansing team just returned from.” Sintta reached over to shackle the body to the stone. If the corpse was simply biding its time to go on the attack, prudence was the best course of action. If it was absolutely dead, it did no one any harm to restrain it.

“Where, exactly, and how was it -” Finrod looked up from examining his new prize, only to find both Glorfindel and Alydia gone. “Where…?”

Sintta shrugged, beginning his own examination of the corpse. Just because it was Finrod’s first and foremost didn’t mean it wasn’t of interest to the other two researchers on site. “Telling a person to ‘be gone’ isn’t exactly a way to get them to stay to answer questions for you. Especially when they are tired and hungry.”

Finrod huffed, starting to measure the level of corruption inside the body. How could Sintta afford such casual respect to the Tel’Gothra? She was a member of the enemy race; all the help she was pretending to afford the Raiaeran cause was probably simple subterfuge. In all likelihood, she was working for her own accursed kind.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Glorfindel sat in the armory after seeing Alydia to her quarters. In stark contrast to a mere hour before, when he’d been resplendent in gleaming silver, he wore a simple pair of sage green trousers and a slate blue tunic with soft-soled leather boots. Beside him were a small pot of oil and a cloth. In front of him was his armor.

A mere two days out in the Plaguelands was enough to wreak havoc on the metal; even with the Alerian stealing the pollution and discarding it, the plate and the mail didn’t shine as brightly after an excursion. Strong, sure fingers worked the thin oil over intricate etchings, restoring their gleam and his pride. The bitter tang of metal replaced the acrid scent of burnt and corrupted earth. Flickering lantern light replaced the red haze through which the sun filtered beyond the cleansed lands.

In the utter quiet of the empty space, in the Bladesinger’s utter focus on the tedious task at hand, he found a strange sense of peace and freedom. Terrible memories of horrific battles fell from his mind; for a moment, he was free from the sight of comrades who had died horribly and worries held over from days that would never be that long past. For a moment, he was free from the worries over what might have been and what might yet be.

Caught in a trance-like state, he didn’t realize he had a visitor until all the light vanished from the shining metal before him. When he looked up, she was sitting in the window, dark against a salmon sky. Even here, where it was safe, the Alerian thief wore her trademark trenchcoat and fedora. Her eyes looked out at the landscape, her posture was relaxed.

Less than a second had elapsed between the Bladesinger’s armor turning matte and his keen eyes finding the culprit, twenty paces and a dozen coats of armor hung between them. She might have been innocent of the crime of stealing his armor’s shine but for two things: she was Alydia Ettermire and she rolled a brightly gleaming apple in her hand.

Glorfindel’s mouth thinned and furrows appeared between his eyebrows. That was unusual for any elf - in just the past few years his face had seen so many frowns and so few smiles that the strain had etched itself permanently on his fine features. From their first moment of meeting, Alydia had danced a fine line around him, tormenting him just enough to keep him aggravated without endangering herself.

“You are not permitted to be out of your quarters without proper escort,” he reminded her with appropriate sternness. Doubtless her goals tonight were nothing more dastardly than to irritate him, but there were regulations in place around her. She openly scoffed at the idea that she might steal from the base when she was working so hard to further its cause, but her name was infamous and the rules stood. Alydia Ettermire was a thief, not an idiot. Why would she risk trust's thin threads without reason?

“I’m with you now. Everyone agreed that’s escort enough.” The apple sailed up, shining in the dying rays of the sun before floating down to her waiting hand.

“Did you take anything? Other than the fruit?” He could almost hear her eyes roll.

“A couple of these were quite thoughtfully left on my bedside table. It isn’t stealing if it was given.” Alydia spoke firmly, ending that line of conversation. Why would she harm, even the littlest bit, where she was helping?

[Alydia Ettermire]

Silence hung between the two elves for a minute. Glorfindel knew that Alydia was not actually interested in keeping the shine from his armor, so to call her out on taking it would only prolong the time before she returned it. Ignoring the loss and continuing to maintain the mythril was the best way to reclaim what was his.

“How many Corruption Containers remain? My business in Dheathain is not urgent. I can stay until the containers are all used up… or a fortnight, at the longest.” The apple tumbled across her knuckles, threatening to drop. A tiny twitch of her wrist corrected its course.

“Fifty to fifty-five at last count, but you would have to ask the Quarter Master.” A flick of his head sent a stray golden lock back into place. The cleaning cloth moved from plate to mail, buffing the dull links despite their stubborn refusal to shine.

“Three more trips. A ten day or so, then. Are any of the smaller containers from last year still available?”

“Just the one. Why?”

“Hmm.” Alydia shifted in the cold little window, planting her boots at the level of her nose and regarding the scratches and scuffs on the leather. Even her sturdy vlince coat was starting to fray in places from the strain of her adventures; maybe it was time to look into upgrading once more. Maybe she should look into enchantments. “Soon, either Mr. Hagfish will demand I drain the Corruption from his new corpse or he’ll ask Sintta to request it of me. I wanted to use the little ones on him, if there were enough available. I don’t think a single large one will suffice.”

“And why was the body so interesting that you would fight with Hyanda to bring him back here?”

The Alerian shrugged. “He looks kind of familiar, somehow. Like someone I might have met once. Like someone I might have met recently. Aside from that… how is he dead? I want answers as much as anyone else.”

The apple spun through the air one final time, landing softly in the thief’s hand. Mind focused on something else, Alydia absently raised the fruit to her lips. The crunch of teeth breaking into its firm flesh was immediately followed by disgusted coughs and sputters. Unnatural shine drained from the fruit’s red skin, and the Alerian thief hurried over smooth stone floors to Glorfindel’s workstation. At her touch, light flowed back over the surface of the metal, giving it the authoritative gleam the Bladesinger so valued.

Shine tasted like earwax.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Over the next week, Finrod Siannodel, Fenaro Alchression, and Sintta Ilya examined the strange body closely. Despite its lengthy state of death, it did not decompose. Despite its astounding levels of Corruption, it neither infected anything around it nor attempted to move. For all intents and purposes, it was a highly Corrupted incorruptible corpse.

It was a unique specimen; no others of its kind had ever been found. If a corpse was dead out in the Plaguelands, it was usually hacked up beyond repair. This one was whole. If a corpse was intact, it was usually shambling, walking, or running to destroy any living thing in its path. This one laid lifeless in steel shackles.

No test any of the three researchers ran could edify them as to the reason this particular corpse was the way it was; it simply was. Around the eighth day, just after the cleansing team departed for its final foray into the horrid haze of the polluted Plaguelands, Finrod Siannodel reached a conclusion: He would never find his answers unless the corpse was clean.

He approached Sintta Ilya while the latter reviewed the latest data from one of Fenaro’s studies. While Alchression’s work could not cleanse corrupted land, there was evidence that certain plants could prevent the Corruption from creeping back after it had already been removed. If no one could find a more potent purifier, a hedge barrier between living and dead would be more than beneficial.

Ilya’s research sought that more potent, more widespread purifier. His interest in the others’ work came not from a direct interest in helping them further their research, but in furthering his own. What if their colleague had already discovered a compound that would save their homeland and simply was unaware of it?

Their conversation was brief, direct, and fruitful. So it was that on the tenth day after finding the elven corpse in the dirt, Alydia Ettermire stood beneath the harsh lights of the researchers’ laboratory. Her find was still dead, still corrupted, and still wholly remarkable.

“There’s been no change in him?” Gloved hands set out a pair of lantern-sized canisters, then a third one the size of a large candle. The thief had lifted and carried this body; he definitely held more corruption than she could take in a single lift.

“None,” Ilya confirmed. “He has neither started to decompose nor to move.”

“More importantly,” Siannodel spoke up, “if this body held enough corruption to require three canisters, how did you carry it?” Had she been doing less than she was able in previous lifts? Was it because she was sabotaging them, or because they were simply unable to supply her with containers adequate to her skills?

Alydia didn’t look at the researcher. “If you needed to carry ten measures of flour from the market to your home, would you carry it by the fistful or would you carry it in a sack? This poor creature served as a container. I couldn’t take all his Corruption at the time we found him, but I could take him. Are we ready for me to work?”

Siannodel gave grudging assent; however necessary she was at this juncture, he didn’t like the thief having her filthy paws on his subject. Sintta unshackled the specimen, then set himself up on the other side of the corpse, watching closely. Glorfindel stood nonchalantly by the door, pretending that he was here only for his duty to keep the dark elf from stealing everything in sight and not at all curious.

Black hands sheathed in black leather reached down to plant themselves on the dead man’s mottled gray head and chest. Shadows rippled around her fingers, probing into the body and pulling from him, taking something that never gave itself up without a fight.

Pulling from a smaller, more intensely Corrupted object was as slow a process as clearing out an entire square mile. After an hour, the two large containers had turned from brightest white to darkest black, full to brimming. The corpse had regained some color. While pale and ashy gray beneath the spidery black lines winding over its body, flesh tones slowly crept through.

Another twenty minutes saw the corpse’s Corruption gone entirely and the very last of the containers filled. The Alerian’s job was fulfilled; there was no further good she could do in Raiaera until there were more canisters to fill. They wouldn’t have a good stockpile for another year, which left her free to go.

Every elf in the room watched the corpse when the last of its Corruption left it. Maybe it would open its eyes, breathe, and speak. Maybe its heart would beat and its living color return. Maybe they had just saved this poor soul’s life.

Alas, there was nothing, no sign, no indication. The corpse was simply a corpse. When nothing happened after several minutes, the Bladesinger escorted the thief out of the lab. She needed to rest and eat; in all likelihood, she would be gone at sunset.

Ilya followed them soon after. There was nothing here for him to do or see. The hypothesis had been interesting, but ultimately the dead man was unremarkable.

Finrod left last. He had stayed behind, wondering if his subject’s effect was simply delayed. After an hour, there was no hope left for any discoveries from this dead man, so the researcher left. Maybe this elf had a kinsman searching for answers to his fate. If they were looking and lucky, here he was. It wouldn’t take more than a few days to give the poor soul a proper burial.

[Duffy]

Only immortal people wished to be free of their ‘gift’. After centuries of life, cruel or not, the reality began to wane even the most enthusiastic of souls. Duffy Bracken was no exception to the cruel passing of time. In his final moments, two years prior, he had let misery and darkness consume him. In his weakened state, the Forgotten One Oblivion had triumphed.

“Live, damnit!”

The corpse opened its eyes. Despite being a corpse for two years, there was no lethargy or decay – pure cornea, glistening and blue examined the roof of the chamber.

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back…I’ll come to hell myself!”

Only Duffy heard the voice. It echoed through time and space. It was familiar, and yet the long sleep obfuscated his memory. He narrowed his gaze, and tried to stand. Arms flailing, mouth wide, he found momentary strength followed by overpowering, sickening weakness. He fell sideways from the slab, hard, and felt his ribs crack against the stone.

Voices swirled in his head as pain made him live. With spidery fingers, Duffy tried to find advantage to push himself upright, but old, worn bone and intoxicated blood refused to cooperate. His heart pounded so hard in his chest his vision blurred, and his breathing turned slow and heavy. He crawled away from the steps on which his legs raised, snake-like, until he was horizontal on the floor.

“<Nicaea lux hay!>” he swore.

Silence teemed in the Bladesinger sanctuary. Duffy waited a few minutes until his ears stopped ringing and his shins stopped aching. He repeated what he had just said in his head, but even then, the words remained alien.

“<Nicaea lux hay?>” he repeated, questioning the words to see if he could remember what they meant.

Elven. Duffy’s eyes widened. The next logical step for an illogical series of events was to reach for his ears. He swore again, though the meaning was lost on him. His lobes burnt by his friend’s berating were gone. Long, elven features went with auburn hair and a heavy gait. Adrenaline gave the bard courage enough to stand, on uneasy feet, and stumble back to the slab to use it as a support. Slumped against it, he looked down at the polished stone and saw a ghastly facsimile of his new self.

The Tantalum troupe were avatars. Immortal in so far as they reincarnated when death came calling. When Oblivion had instilled a curse as old as time itself in the bard, he had taken that gift away. Duffy had reincarnated, in body at least, and been reborn in Raiaera…at least, that is where he assumed he was. The corruption swelling in uprising in his body, and the familiar architecture cried high elf. His stomach rumbled, a duet of hunger and worry and nausea.

“Why here?” His common was coarse, and his Scara Braen accent gone. He sounded like a Beinost sailor, without the rum.

His memories snapped. They reformed. They rekindled in his heart a desire to live, and not to just give up on his friends and die. Then, the irony struck him. His friends were hundreds of miles away. He had no idea how long he had been dormant, though to him, it had been decades. He had suffered a thousand cycling trivialities and nightmares in the realm beyond realms.

“Why now?” Whenever now was, it was important. The troupe changed form to suit a culture in need of a hero. They became a leader for people with a lost cause. Whilst Scara Brae had always been the ancestral haunt of each of the Thayne Tantalus’s’ envoys, some had been reborn in Akashima, Raiaera, and as far flung as Fallien.

Running a finger over his cracked lip, Duffy sighed with relief when flesh touched cold steel. His piercings, wards against Oblivion’s curse were still there. His body, too, was more Coronian than elven, though his ears, eyes, and call to song were distinctly of the High elf ancestry he had come to hate. However, a Bladesinger, the stubborn refusal of the High Bladesinger Nalith to help others had instilled a deep-seated loathing in the bard. The irony made him sicker still.

“Good. You are alive. Now, find the woman that brought you back. Before He rises!”

Duffy stood upright, alert and weary. His right hand instinctively reached for the absent hilt of the brackish blade called Lysander. He frowned. Eyes closing to think, he tried again to summon a weapon. When it did not appear, he called through the veil to the Tap for any of his blades. None appeared. When he turned his thoughts to the Aria, the realm of creation between here, and the Tap itself, he heard nothing.

“He rises? That’s not good…”

Feeling the cold take hold of his buttocks, Duffy walked steadily to the only doors in the chamber. Life anew had gifted him with a thick cloak, a tunic, and attire similar to a Wanderer’s garb. Whatever this life had in store, the sickness and his supposed elven nature suggested to Duffy that in the Red Forest he would find answers. With more questions than answers, and a familiar woman’s voice chastising every ill thought and wrong turn, the not so great bard stumbled into the dark corridor beyond in search of a woman whose name, it would turn out, he knew all too well.

[Quentin Boone]

Thread Title: Lift the Curse, Wake the Dead (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28175-Lift-the-Curse-Wake-the-Dead)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Where in the World?, Duffy

Note: Commentary is kept to a minimum at the request of Where in the World?



Plot: 17/30

Story- 5/10
This was an interesting story with a pretty good twist at the end. As a basic plot, it worked well, but could have benefited from being placed in a slightly longer time-frame: As it stands on its own, it feels much more like a snippet than a fully-formed tale.

Setting- 5/10
Although multiple senses were used in describing the setting, the thread mostly felt like it was taking place in a void. Description of setting wasn't completely void, but it failed to give more than a vague impression. Often, little details are what's missing when people think about setting, but were included here. Had some of the more common, larger, elements had been included, a higher score could have been achieved.

Pacing- 7/10
The thread kept a pace that didn't stagnate or rush too quickly, but the occasional time jump hurt pacing. Issues related to Clarity also hurt pacing, especially later on in the thread, but these will be discussed below.



Character: 19/30

Communication- 8/10
The communication was very well done. It served a purpose, felt realistic and moved the plot forward. There was also good use of non-verbal communication, but characters' voices didn't truly ring in the reader's mind.

Action-6/10
Though actions were used efficiently and stayed with the realm of realism, there was very little in terms of nuance when it came to actions. Little details can make all the difference and help to bring characters to life.

Persona- 5/10
Though nothing seemed out of place for any of the characters, the reader wasn't really able to really get into the mindset of any of them. More introspection could help with this.



Prose: 20/30

Mechanics- 8/10
The writing here was almost void of errors and the prose had a good tone.

Clarity- 5/10
For the most part, the writing was clear. There were a moments when clarity really suffered. For Where in the World? these mostly centre around her ability to remove the taint that was left after the war. It really wasn't clear exactly what Alydia was doing to remove it - something with shadows, that's all the reader knows. It's important to remember that a reader shouldn't need to look at a character profile for things to make sense.

The final post resulted in a couple of lost points. References were made that weren't explained to give them context, for example, Oblivion. The reader is given no indication who/what Oblivion is. In similar vein, a thread should stand on its own without the need to read previous threads. The talk about the Tantalus Troupe and reincarnation also seemed to make no sense - reincarnation was a gift that was taken away, but Duffy has just been reincarnated!! The reader is led to assume that the corpse Alydia cleansed is the reincarnated Duffy, but the corpse had been left naked and shackled. Somehow, Duffy was able to just roll off the slab and was fully clothed. This made no sense, so it was really unclear what was going on.

Technique- 7/10
While there wasn't an abundance of techniques used, what was used was effective. Imagery helped when describing setting or a character's mood and condition. Where in the World? was able to build anticpation that gave the right amount of tension to have the big reveal at the end a surprise.



Wildcard: 4/10
It was good, but could have been better. A point is lost for Duffy's post which kinda spoiled the thread due to it not making much sense.



Final Score: 60/100

If either of you want further, more specific feedback, do not hesitate to contact me either in chat or via PM.

Where in the World? (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?8606-Where-in-the-World) receives:

1080 EXP!
108 GP!


Duffy (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?13978-Duffy) receives:

194 EXP!
12 GP!


Congratulations!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!