Tshael
04-30-06, 01:43 AM
The coastline sparkled in the moonlight as every kiss the waves gave to the sand was frozen in the air of the winter night. The snow that glazed the sand that the waves could not reach had fallen earlier in the day, leaving the sky clear now for the stars to sparkle above. Too cold for bird or beast, the silence was left to the delicate rushing of water as it broke over the frosty bank, as diligent and relentless as a summer lover. It was a scene of iced beauty, peaceful and sincere in the way it stood still against the motion of the clock, but would all too soon be broken.
From the waves, a dark figure emerged, breaking the crest of the water as it slowly pulsed closer and closer to that crystaline shore. As he reached the shallows, his journey to dry land grew ever more erratic, from a slow swagger filled with heavy breaths, to a near run as he fought against the drag of the current. He was human - or at least had been at one time. His weak and weary walk was upright, though hunched over a small box that he clutched to his chest. While his arms and chest looked as though he was unaccustomed to heavy work, his legs were powerfully muscled and nearly as thick as his waist. Long hair hung down over a face that even in the darkness of night, a mother could easily deny. Hair hung down all over him from the crown of his misshappen head to his strangely elongated feet. Claws stabbed down through the ice and into the cold sand below, leaving a disturbing trail from the water's edge and onwards over the flatlands. After he had gone, the waves rushed up to clear his entrance onto Corone, though the path through the snow ahead still sang of the rape of that pure scene. In the distance, under the eyes of only the cold and uncaring moon, a lone howl rushed across the horizon, towards a small forest that lay huddled and defenseless along the plains.
Tyrra was the sort of forest that was often forgotten. No road nor river ran near it, no lantern lights of homesteads brightened it's clearings. It was a lonely patch of life in the middle of a sprawling nothing. Most of the creatures that lay within it's confines were too hungry to beware the scent and danger of humanity, most of the plants were poison, and the wood rotted nearly as soon as it was cut. It was a cursed place, a barren avenue of things rejected, and it was what the wolfman sought.
As he dove deeper and deeper into the forbidden wood, the snow receeded, leaving it's only touch upon the canopy far overhead. His hot and slavering breath came in bursts of fog, his wet fur froze matted to his form, but he moved as if the cold meant nothing to him. He had one purpose, one desire in this life and that was to meet face to face with his Queen again. Soon, white began to appear on the fringes of the path again, though it was not the sparkling patches of snow he'd left behind. Instead, thick webs began to coat plants and the corpses of animals who'd never had the proper decency to stay away. The webs glistened with frost, but it was hard to tell if they were thick with the ice or perhaps out of sheer strength. A toothy grin appeared on the wolfman's face. He knew his way now, he could smell the heavenly breath of his prize.
The webs grew thicker, until slight tendrils of white grabbed at his feet as he began to stray from the path, moving to a place where the trees grew tallest, and the forest itself seemed to whisper. It was here that flowers grew not from rain and sunlight, but the old magics that still fed this place from a time when the race of Man was harder and harder to find, and easier to kill. Just as he thought he'd lost his way and stumbled into a trap of silken lies, the path cleared, and he fell to his knees.
"My Queen!" he sobbed, his forehead touching the ground. When he looked up at the figure before him, strands of spider-silk clung to his brow. "I have finished the sixth task that you gave to me."
As he spoke, he pushed the box he had carried so gently forward and looked eagerly into a pair of deep brown eyes that had watched him soundlessly thusfar. Ringed in an altar of the tallest trees that Tyrra had to offer, a woman sat upon a natural throne. It had once been a tree who had fallen without a witness in the forest many years ago. Rot had hollowed it out and a cushion of spidersilk now lay within it. Upon the cushion, a woman sat. She looked young, and had looked that way through many centuries now, with long brown hair pulled back from her face, a few shorter strands falling before her. Her eyes were blank, dark and warm while remaining aloof, and she stared at the wolfman without revealing any thoughts, though he was sure she loved him. The only thing she seemed to be interested in was a tapestry that lay across her lap, hiding her naked waist and legs. Three pairs of arms worked without rest on weaving the tapestry and mending tears in the knotwork that had appeared over the years.
Reluctantly, she stopped her weaving, letting the tapestry fall to the ground and she stood. The myriad of arms that she had waved awkwardly as she walked, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them all. She stopped just short of the box, bending down and opening the lid with a single hand. Within it's teak exterior, coins of many kinds gleamed, still wet from their rescue from the ocean's depths. Several pearls gleamed among the monies, and the wolfman looked expectantly for her opinion of his hand-picked additions. She said nothing, but nodded in approval and turned to go back to her weaving. The silence stretched on for several long moments as the wolfman picked himself off the ground and looked around in confusion. He stared at the box and then again at the Weaver before his voice came, meek and questioning.
"M..my Queen?" She paused, looking up at him and he finally realized just how cold it really was. She opened her mouth, and his heart seemed to stop.
"You've done well, Roen. For your seventh task, take half the jewels and find a mercenary." She began to weave again, her mouth moving into the faded remnant of a smile. "Tell the one you hire that the same amount will be given when he reaches me, and give him directions."
"Is there a particular mercenary I should look for, Magesty?" he asked. She looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.
"Look for a man who needs money more than he needs his morals."
From the waves, a dark figure emerged, breaking the crest of the water as it slowly pulsed closer and closer to that crystaline shore. As he reached the shallows, his journey to dry land grew ever more erratic, from a slow swagger filled with heavy breaths, to a near run as he fought against the drag of the current. He was human - or at least had been at one time. His weak and weary walk was upright, though hunched over a small box that he clutched to his chest. While his arms and chest looked as though he was unaccustomed to heavy work, his legs were powerfully muscled and nearly as thick as his waist. Long hair hung down over a face that even in the darkness of night, a mother could easily deny. Hair hung down all over him from the crown of his misshappen head to his strangely elongated feet. Claws stabbed down through the ice and into the cold sand below, leaving a disturbing trail from the water's edge and onwards over the flatlands. After he had gone, the waves rushed up to clear his entrance onto Corone, though the path through the snow ahead still sang of the rape of that pure scene. In the distance, under the eyes of only the cold and uncaring moon, a lone howl rushed across the horizon, towards a small forest that lay huddled and defenseless along the plains.
Tyrra was the sort of forest that was often forgotten. No road nor river ran near it, no lantern lights of homesteads brightened it's clearings. It was a lonely patch of life in the middle of a sprawling nothing. Most of the creatures that lay within it's confines were too hungry to beware the scent and danger of humanity, most of the plants were poison, and the wood rotted nearly as soon as it was cut. It was a cursed place, a barren avenue of things rejected, and it was what the wolfman sought.
As he dove deeper and deeper into the forbidden wood, the snow receeded, leaving it's only touch upon the canopy far overhead. His hot and slavering breath came in bursts of fog, his wet fur froze matted to his form, but he moved as if the cold meant nothing to him. He had one purpose, one desire in this life and that was to meet face to face with his Queen again. Soon, white began to appear on the fringes of the path again, though it was not the sparkling patches of snow he'd left behind. Instead, thick webs began to coat plants and the corpses of animals who'd never had the proper decency to stay away. The webs glistened with frost, but it was hard to tell if they were thick with the ice or perhaps out of sheer strength. A toothy grin appeared on the wolfman's face. He knew his way now, he could smell the heavenly breath of his prize.
The webs grew thicker, until slight tendrils of white grabbed at his feet as he began to stray from the path, moving to a place where the trees grew tallest, and the forest itself seemed to whisper. It was here that flowers grew not from rain and sunlight, but the old magics that still fed this place from a time when the race of Man was harder and harder to find, and easier to kill. Just as he thought he'd lost his way and stumbled into a trap of silken lies, the path cleared, and he fell to his knees.
"My Queen!" he sobbed, his forehead touching the ground. When he looked up at the figure before him, strands of spider-silk clung to his brow. "I have finished the sixth task that you gave to me."
As he spoke, he pushed the box he had carried so gently forward and looked eagerly into a pair of deep brown eyes that had watched him soundlessly thusfar. Ringed in an altar of the tallest trees that Tyrra had to offer, a woman sat upon a natural throne. It had once been a tree who had fallen without a witness in the forest many years ago. Rot had hollowed it out and a cushion of spidersilk now lay within it. Upon the cushion, a woman sat. She looked young, and had looked that way through many centuries now, with long brown hair pulled back from her face, a few shorter strands falling before her. Her eyes were blank, dark and warm while remaining aloof, and she stared at the wolfman without revealing any thoughts, though he was sure she loved him. The only thing she seemed to be interested in was a tapestry that lay across her lap, hiding her naked waist and legs. Three pairs of arms worked without rest on weaving the tapestry and mending tears in the knotwork that had appeared over the years.
Reluctantly, she stopped her weaving, letting the tapestry fall to the ground and she stood. The myriad of arms that she had waved awkwardly as she walked, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them all. She stopped just short of the box, bending down and opening the lid with a single hand. Within it's teak exterior, coins of many kinds gleamed, still wet from their rescue from the ocean's depths. Several pearls gleamed among the monies, and the wolfman looked expectantly for her opinion of his hand-picked additions. She said nothing, but nodded in approval and turned to go back to her weaving. The silence stretched on for several long moments as the wolfman picked himself off the ground and looked around in confusion. He stared at the box and then again at the Weaver before his voice came, meek and questioning.
"M..my Queen?" She paused, looking up at him and he finally realized just how cold it really was. She opened her mouth, and his heart seemed to stop.
"You've done well, Roen. For your seventh task, take half the jewels and find a mercenary." She began to weave again, her mouth moving into the faded remnant of a smile. "Tell the one you hire that the same amount will be given when he reaches me, and give him directions."
"Is there a particular mercenary I should look for, Magesty?" he asked. She looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.
"Look for a man who needs money more than he needs his morals."