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  #1  
Old 10-29-2009
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gbbishop gbbishop is offline
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The Wychlaran of Ashane

Dolim Quietly tended his small field about a days walk from Lake Ashane. His hardened features pressed outward against his light leather vest. Both were tribute to the lands he called home. The air, quiet and still this day, seemed to resist his exhalations. As the air rushed past his lips is was forced into a vaporous cloud that hung about his head and clung to the thick hair of his upper lip and chin. There, his breath would rest forever, frozen it would seem by the chilling quieting cold.

The silence was only broken by the plow as it tilled the still frosted soil. As always if one waited for warmer weather the crops would not garner the time needed to grow to harvest before the land froze once more. It was a hard life and most peoples in the world would have left these lands long ago but he was Rashemi.

His work nearly finished for the day he began to stow his tools for the coming night. It was then he heard the first signs of a small band traveling the Western Trail. At the sound he paused and tensed. The spade he held would serve, as a weapon, should the band be hostile. No matter there number they would be foolish to think him an easy target. As the group materialized out of the now darkening landscape, Dolim let go a breath and relaxed. It was a small Fang it seemed. Though there was one riding in there midst. His tension returned. A Wychlaran was with them. The Witches of Rashamen, as outlanders titled them, did not travel with Fangs unless there was serious trouble, often only in times of war.

Dolim thought back when he had fought for one of the Wychlaran. He shuddered involuntarily when he recalled her power. Then his mind shifted to another. Someone he had not seen in well over a Tenyear. He wondered what Wychlaran had done with her. Was she still alive? Had the Wyclaran accepted her strange abilities or had they destroyed her for being different? As the Fang drew nearer his mind travel deeper into the past.

“Come to me, for I have come to you.” Whispered the figure standing in the near freezing glacial lake. The waters, quietly swirling around her, ended just above the middle of her thigh.

The water’s chill stung as he made his way out to meet her. Thoughts smash against the sides of his skull striving to be heard. All the warnings and all the tales of men who had been lost to creatures such as this could do nothing to alter his course.

“I am yours, Spirit of Ashane.” The words came as a gasp through his blue lips.

He was now standing before her. The water for him rested just below his shoulders. The creature smiled and began to sink slowly into his embrace. She tilted her face towards him and they sank further beneath the surface. Her lips met his as his lips slipped below the plane or the water. Warmth exploded with in him.

One day Dolim wnet to her, the Spirit of Ashane was simply not there. It was some months later that a child arrived in the night. It should have frozen to death there, outside his door. The fact that she had not, coupled with the dream that had drawn him to open that door, had left him with no illusions. This was Her child… this was his child.

He had done his best to raise her but her nature made it very difficult. I was shortly after her seventh birthday that a new set of problems manifested.

Not a year later her scream brought him running. He had found her in the shed her face in her hands, her small frame racking with sobs. His heart had torn that day and it had never mended. Before the small child lay the body of a man. He was an outlander by his cloths. He must have been using the shed for shelter from the previous night’s storm. His face was frozen now in the pain of what must have been his death throws.

Ashana heard his footsteps and abruptly spun to face him him. Horror was plainly scribed on her face.

“He was… just there… and surprised me. He rushed toward me… or maybe... the door. I don’t know.” She managed to get out between her sobs. She threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest.

He had tried to get out what had happened but every time he asked Ashana would begin to scream anew. There was not weapon no marks on the man nothing to explain his death he was scared and new only one place to turn. The Wychlaran.

They said she did not have the arcane spark and that her faith was far to lacking to have been granted such power from the gods. Perhaps some spirit had taken her and that if they could exorcize it then they would return her to him. The said they would need some time and they would send him word when they were able.

His mind was forced back into the present. He had never heard from them. Perhaps that was best.

Dolim watched the Fang move along the Western Trail. The rider paused as she came abreast of Dolim and his cart. She turned to him. She was masked she must be traveling to the outlands.

She gazed down at him. Soon he became uncomfortable. He was about to ask if he could help her when she spoke.

“Dolim of Ashane Lake, know this. Your daughter lives. She loves you and misses you. She has left these lands to fight forces from without to protect those within.”

With that her gaze returns to the road ahead and she urges her mount forward and the Fang moves out.

It was all he could do to remain standing. It had been so long with out word and now this from a Wychlaran lead Fang on it’s way out of Rashamen. Then it struck him.

“Farewell my little Ashana.” A tear accompanied his words and froze half way to his prideful smile.

Last edited by gbbishop; 10-29-2009 at 12:12 PM. Reason: missing a link.
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Old 10-29-2009
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///here we go///

Last edited by gbbishop; 11-25-2009 at 12:06 PM. Reason: I have been allowed to continue the story.
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Old 11-25-2009
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The last flame of the fire flickered and struggled feebly to remain alight. The young Wych was weary but far to troubled to find sleep. Ashana’s Fang could move with alarming speed. The fact was, she often felt she was holding them back. Even with the two spare horses she would change out when one grew weary. She only wished that she had a few more of her self to change out. None of them rode horses, how could they not tire? It was true, Rashemi men, prided themselves on their self-reliance, strength and stamina. These three tenants, though important, merely fought for second place behind loyalty. They would follow her to any end she could muster and consider it an honor to die for her. Even if she lead them to ruin, with their dying breaths they would praise her action and their spirits would see to her success.

Ashana was young for one of the Wychlaran, she was surprised they had heard her request and allowed her to continue her search for the Red Necromancer. Sure, she had uncovered his plot and forced him to flee, all this before she had even been initiated, but she had been sure that she would be forced to remain in Rashmen and leave the hunt to one of her seniors. She secretly worried now, what with the entire Fang her responsibility and iff she failed there would be no justice for the soulless bastard she pursued. Her worry was tempered by the presence of one man. Kanithur was at her side. He was always with her. She could not remember a time when he had not been with her. The truth was, she could not remember meeting Kanith. He was just there. Odd that she could be so close to another and yet not remember when they had met.

With all of her responsibilities, it was silly to be stuck on this childish fancy. What did it matter when she met him? He was here now and he was capable and noble and with him there, she felt much better about damn near everything. She should focus her energies on the trail left by the Red Wizard. She should be plotting their course and planning their next move complete with contingencies should plans fail. Hunting such a terrible foe without focus would surely end in ruin. Yet there it was looming like a mastodon in the receiving room.

She looked up from her dying fire to watch Kanith. He was a few fires over and seemed to be chatting jovially with the men gathered there. She new what he was about, he had such a knack bolstering the warriors morale. Even if he was merely striding about humming as he carried out inspections. The troops might die for her but surely they would follow Kanith to the grave and beyond should he ask it of them. As he rose to leave the men gave a quiet “Jurah.” None rose or gave salute. She had asked Kanith why he did not demand respect. He had said that the men already showed respect and that a salutes would only make it that much easier for hostile intelligence to identify commanders. He had finished his rounds this evening and was heading back towards the fire the two of them shared.

The last yellow flame of her fire sputtered and died. The sudden loss of light from the bright flame plunged the area into near darkness. Pulsing and coruscating red emerged from the darkness the yellow light now gone her eyes took the moment needed to adjust.

A young boy, that had seen no more than eight springs, stepped into the glowing red ring of soft light.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly. When she opened them Kanith stood there with a smile on his face.

“You have need of me Mistress?” He inquired with a hint of mischief behind his eyes.

The boy spoke. “You have need of me Mistress?”

“Shall I add mor…” Kanith’s words cut off cleanly with a gesture from Ashana.

She sat there with hand raised calling for silence and her eyes wide, staring not at the man but the boy.

Kanith remained still but worry crept slowly across his visage.

A young boy most likely her own age entered the room and was basked in the red glow. The glow emanated from the desk at the center of the room and threatened to over whelm everything in the room. It washed over Ashana standing quietly where she had been directed to do so. The red was so vibrant it nearly washed out the figure of and elderly woman standing with her back turned.

“You have need of me Mistress?” The boy spoke with confidence betrayed by clenched fists held rigidly at his sides.

There was a lyrical cant to his voice, it made Ashana feel safe, could that be? She frowned at the boy. Why was he here? This was Wych’s business. She was here to learn how to be Wychlaran, what was this boy doing there?

Ashana looked angrily at the old Wych still intent upon what ever it was she studied on the table. What was going on, who was this boy.

Ashana’s mind grasped at the fleeing memory. It felt like something was trying to push it from her. Both her innate stubbornness and tenacity learned from her days studying with The Order rallied to fight this forgetting force. There was something here in this memory that was important, perhaps crucial.

Red light pulsed as if in time with her efforts. What ever was at work to keep her from remembering was stronger. It felt as if a piece of her was being torn from her body. She cried out! The red glow of the firelight returned Across from her Kanith bearing a troubled look. He remained frozen however waiting from some sort of signal from his ward.

“Do you remember the day we met?” She asked softly.

“I.” He began then stopped abruptly face turning to a sour frown.

“Should I put more wood on the fire?” He asked instead.
“Indeed, for we have much to talk about this night. Perhaps for many nights to come.”
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