Category: Scene

Theo: A Community Apart

Why do we even try? Etienne was right. Peace is a lie. They will never truly welcome us as equals.

Recently they had been kind, caring, or at least giving. They consider us better than the outsiders, better than the malefic. Such praise! Maybe someday we can aspire to be as appreciated as the animals in the forests and swamps! They’re just bribing us into not being a problem for them later. Whatever. Do they actually like us though? Do they really believe we are part of their community? Of course not.

Some try to convince us that we can join them, that we will be happier if we were part of their community. I’m not even sure what that even means. Seems like just another way people try to make us go away, to put us under their thumbs. One more group for them to balance. They don’t really know us, they don’t really care. Maybe someday they’ll actually explain it to Cole. I bet now that Etienne and Aryeh refuse to come to market, they think we are easy to break off from the group and consume. To fix us like those priests did to Nadja.

One minute you torturing an elf for information is wrong and you should talk nicely with it instead. The next talking to it makes you evil and someone no one should trust.
You can listen to them about how to do a thing, but they will use it as a weapon against you.

They might seem happy to hear your opinions, the next they will reject you for trying to give advice they don’t like or don’t understand. Clearly your advice was meant as an attack upon someone they liked better. An apology is too much to ask of them.
You can pretend to include yourself, but they will turn their back on you in favor of anyone else at the first opportunity.

They might ask you for information about something, and you might give it to them. You might expect them to include you in whatever is going to happen. You would be wrong.
You can try to be part of their community, but they will make their own plans behind closed doors and exclude you. They don’t really trust you.

You can give them the tools and encourage them to find a solution, but somehow there is malice in your hear
We are just a cog in their machine that never really fit or worked the way they wanted.
Always one step away from being thrown away.

Hornet Nest

She was well and truly exhausted, as she sat in the shadow of the Grove looking at the spilled blood, torn grass and shambles of the chime. Her cloak wrapped around her trying to keep the heat in and the rain out. Pain radiated from her back down her legs, her heels feeling like she was standing on daggers even though she was seated. Her heart was broken with the pain of what she had allow to happen in the tunnels, the ending of a Spirit, and she had begged, grovelled to Isabel , abasing herself pleading to have the Spirit released. All the time having to work with that hideous corruption of a mage. It all came to naught of course, the priests prevailed. It was all for the ‘good of the community’. Her head was buzzing, it was like having a hornets nest inside her skull.

She leaned into the tree, seeking solace in the familiar smell and texture of the bark under her cheek. She sung softly to the tree and to herself about spring and the flowing of sap and new buds and leaves. The buzzing did not abate, it droned and swirled around and stung her. She had risked everything, her Grove, her Circle to help them and still, they didn’t understand. They could never get over their stupid writing in their books telling them what was right and who was evil. Even when faced with one of their living Saint and hearing the truth from him, they were bound by their scribbles from small minded fools of ages past.

She worried about what the People would say, she hadn’t seen or hear any of them since Grandfather had whispered to her to welcome the elf as an honoured guest. She hadn’t, she’d been rude to it. Hadn’t offered Hospitality even when the elf demanded it. Had tried to get to the Great Spirit to see if a compromise could be made but the damned Lion people kept getting in the way and then when Etienne had stepped up, she hadn’t been quick enough to stop the Pact. It was one thing to bind yourself but, the whole community? That would be a mistake that everyone would bare.

She thought that maybe she could temper the Pact the next morning at the feast but, the priests were there again, and the mage. Then the worst had happened, when she had stepped back from the Spirit she had seen the mage, waving his hands and wriggling his finger, casting corruption on her! She had called out for him to stop but he had tried to silence her, in desperation she had order dear, sweet Hugo to attack him. He hadn’t, blessing of the Spirits on him, his head had been clear, no hornets sting or buzzing to distract him. Then, the community actually did something together and stopped it. The Great Spirit would have certainly gorged on those emotions. Cadence was there, bringing her back to herself,the Spirit entreating her, almost bending her to pray to him. So much so that she did start to Pray, like crossing a racing river, she Prayed for community, for friendship, anything to try to get to the other side,as the Spirit retreated, in one desperate grasp for safety she wretched away from the Spirit and dedicated the Prayer to Cadence instead.

She though of the Spirit from the tunnels again grieving for the loss, of the Great Spirit corrupted, tormented entreating her to Pray to him. She had denied so much recently, all for this community, these people. She wondered which would happen first, the people burning her as a Witch or would the Standing People destroy her. The buzzing crescendoed in her head, PAIN! Then, in a burst of light she had a brief vision of a figure surrounded by light, then silence and darkness as she collapsed against the tree in relief as the pain stopped and slept.

Whenever I’m conscious, I hear footsteps on the hardwood. My Lord, clergymen, the doctor – even Fritjof’s mother. It seems I’m causing quite a stir – they refuse to give up even though I’ve accepted the reality of my situation; I went to my family to help them, and am now cursed like they are. And I will die like one of them.

Never in my life have I been so incredibly wretched – which is saying a lot. The very air stings my skin. My face is swollen, crusted, chaffed like dried seawater. My eyes are going to burst from my head. Every breath is pain in my mouth, through my throat, to my chest. My pulse is in my teeth. Twitching or uttering breath takes long moments of deliberate preparation. If only there were anything I could do to spare myself beholding Lady Death’s face just one more night…!

Friar Ignatius and Brother Erasmus enter with the skald, Saga. I feel like I’m thinking through heavy fog; his words make little sense. I must be delirious, as I feel like laughing – not at the poor man, but at it all. How is it possible to be so terrified and yet so cavalier? Yet that is how I feel.

My Lord lingers nearby. He’s invited me back into his own bed (even if he refuses to join at the moment), despite proclaiming that I’m not to go near it until I am well again. I hear Sir Knut has offered drink to ease the pain. My heart skips a beat as Solfyre peers into the room with a ball of flame in her hand. I know well to fear her, and all magi, but her reputation is… poignant. When the light and shadows retreat with her, I notice the room is far more comfortable than before. Perhaps more than the fire spell, though, my heart is warmed by the stalwart willingness to aid me, an outsider, by the Benalian community.

My Lord tips the drink to my lips, a wild reversal of roles… he can be so tender, when he chooses. I am assured once again that they’ll find a solution, come Helheim or high water. I hardly have energy to register their words. It will take a miracle.

The clergymen believe they can lift the curse with a ritual of Benalus. The very idea petrifies me, but what am I to do? To call the Lion’s gaze upon me… what will it entail? Though whatever it is, if it can spare my life, I will agree to it.

Brother Erasmus helps me to cleanse my hands with holy water. The friar is reading from the Testamonium, and Erasmus asks if I will face the might of God. Nothing could frighten me more. With everything I have left, I ask him to begin. Erasmus carefully lifts a sizzling coal from the censer with a pair of tongs and takes my hand. He turns my palm upward, and presses the ember to my wrist.

I don’t know what happened to my body. My mind fills with the image and overwhelming presence of an enormous white lion. He has a huge and kingly mane, and his sunset eyes burn. Burning. Sizzling. Scorching. I feel his might. I hear someone asking that he drive away the curse and forgive my sinning. It feels like eternity, staring into the fiery eyes of God, but when the coal is lifted from my skin, finally extinguished, I fall back into my body. I try to strangle a scream – somehow I’m still not empty of tears. I lay exhausted and in agony, trembling from what I’ve just experienced.

And then Erasmus murmurs, “…Now once more,”

Corbin left the tent briskly, pulling his hood up and over his head to protect him from the cold drizzle that this afternoon had brought. He pulled the sides of his coat closer to him, cursing the lack of waterproofing on the sides of the thing. It was his own fault, after all, there should be plenty of beeswax from Linette. He just had gotten too busy with other things to actually mix it with the oils and then apply it to his cloak. The thickness would keep him warm until the drizzle soaked it through. Once soaked through, any semblance of warmth it provided would fade, and it would only be a hindrance. He had maybe a couple of hours before that happened so he quickly made his way under the canopy of the forest.

“You have questions?” a small squeaky voice chirps inquisitively in his ear. The sudden surprise of it makes Corbin nearly jump out of his skin in panic. But really, it’s not something that should have come as a surprise in the first place: The spiders had been talking to him for months now. Ever since the emissary arrived at the gathering in the woods that night.

“Y..Yes. About the Knight.” He hated spiders. They were creepy little crawly things that tended to get everywhere and he could never tell which ones were going to bite and which ones were not. They were creepy and skittery, and generally just made him uncomfortable whenever one was around. Sure, it wasn’t their fault they were creepy. Spiders played a vital and important part in the health of the forest by keeping the more dangerous insects at bay. He just wished they would do their jobs…. over…there.

“The darkness is good, it hides us.” the voice responds while Corbin represses yet another shiver from running down his spine. He had sorta walked into that one. Of course, the spirit wouldn’t immediately know what a Knight was, at least without more specificity and context.

“N..No. One of the Cruzemore’s men, one of their soldiers, their knights. P..people say he started acting weird once the spiders got into his head. Made him do some really bad things. Can you tell me about that?” Corbin didn’t really want to know if the spiders had driven the man to torture and kill people. He didn’t want to be involved in this discussion at all, but someone had to. Someone who would be able and willing to speak to the spirits and hear what they say needs to be involved in the discussions. If this spider queen really was a Vacatran Crone, the circle needed her. His people needed to help her, and any other members of the faith who might still yet live in her lands.

The silence stretched on for much longer than Corbin felt comfortable with. Not that there was anything even remotely comfortable about the situation, to begin with. He had almost convinced himself that the little messenger had taken his request and left, possibly to go get the answers he sought. His heart had even just started to calm down when the tiny voice spoke again, making him flinch a second time.

“We did what was necessary to guide them through the Mists. It took all we had to do this.”

A perfectly appropriate answer from a spirit. Not a ‘yes’, not a ‘no’, and something each side could interpret to support their original arguments.So pretty much no help at all. If it were a person he could accuse them of dodging the question or being obtuse, but spirits were just like that sometimes. Expecting a depth of understanding of the complicated social nuance of intent and evil was a lot to ask of a little spider whose whole world was about weaving webs and trapping insects for lunch.

“Umm… Thanks” he says finally. “I will leave some of my next hunt at the house in the grove for you.” Just because the information wasn’t particularly useful didn’t absolve the need for payment. That was a lesson hard to learn long ago. Silence followed, and Corbin lied to himself that he was probably alone again. In truth, he knew deep down that he was never really alone anymore, but admitting to that was not something he was ready to do just yet.  

Corbin left the tent briskly, his emotions roiling under a thin façade of calm. He knew this day would one day come, and he was no better prepared for it now than when he first realized it was inevitable all those years ago.

“I thought I would have more time…” he muttered to himself. It was another lie. He’d known for years now that it was only a matter of time until Isabel swore her oaths and became an official priestess. Hell, the only thing that actually surprised him is that it had taken this long already. A small part of him had always hoped he could talk her out of it, but that would be like talking the trees into growing sideways instead of up.

So, he did what he always did when his emotions were too much for him. He ran away into the woods to gather things for the town. Hunting always calmed him. It allowed him to be alone with his thoughts in the cold uncaring murk of the forest. The forest didn’t care if he was happy, sad, scared, or furious. It simply was, and it always sang to its own rhythm and pulse.  He could lose himself in that pulse; get swept up in the currents of the winds, in the trails of the game, and in the simple repetitions of scavenging.

Isabel taking vows had been a foregone conclusion. An inevitability he had been dreading, but by no means unexpected. Sophie Joining at the same time was a surprise, but only in that way that you are surprised the soup fresh off the fire is too hot to eat right away. They were both doing what they thought was best to help serve the town, and really, they probably were. They were not wrong in perusing their ambitions, in following the love within their hearts. And who was he to tell them not to?

He had already shifted his pace and posture and arrested his breathing before he’d even consciously noticed the freshly left pile of deer droppings. Judging by the size and texture, there was a buck nearby and upwind of him. The hunt was on.

Memories flooded his mind in the stillness of the forest. With each cautious step towards his prey, another story from his childhood played itself over again in his mind. Stories from his mother, about the dangers of talking too freely about the old ways and traditions. Names of relatives and friends from long ago who were persecuted and killed for their bonds to the forest and the ways of Vacatra. Warnings against going to those who wear thelion for help or trust, lest the whole family be put to death. Over the course of his entire life, he had never once seen a member of the lion faith harm a member of the circle in the way his mother’s stories recounted. Still, he knew the old stories to be true, and they haunted him all the same.

The buck was grazing in a small clearing just beyond the next bush. He leveled an arrow at the beast and aimed to shoot it in the neck. It would be a clean kill with as little pain as possible, and they would eat well tonight. His breath hung in his chest as he lined up the shot and held for just the right moment.

“That wouldn’t be Isabel though, right? There is no way she would ever hold his family’s connections to the spirits against him like that, would she?” he thought. His breath exhaled. The arrow loosed and smacked loudly into the great oak tree just behind the buck. The sound startled the beast who took off with a start and a grunt of fear. Corbin watched in dismay as his prey disappeared into the underbrush, likely never to be seen again.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” He muttered to himself.