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Old 09-21-2012
TheBrogueadier's Avatar
TheBrogueadier TheBrogueadier is offline
Nobility
 
Join Date: May 2008
Location: Bristol, UK
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TheBrogueadier is a glorious beacon of lightTheBrogueadier is a glorious beacon of lightTheBrogueadier is a glorious beacon of lightTheBrogueadier is a glorious beacon of lightTheBrogueadier is a glorious beacon of light
When you wish upon a star.

Star of wonder,
Star of light,
How you haunt my dreams at night,
Eyes are bleeding, children screaming,
Touch us with your perfect sight.

There was a stage where I was afraid to go out at night, knowing what I know now, knowing there are far, far worse things out there than the devils, demons and monsters. I used to imagine that the sunshine would keep them away, that it would somehow protect me. I've long since realized the futility of this, day light was just a way of pulling a blanket over my head and pretending they didn’t exist.

As I'm committing this to paper I suppose I should explain a little, start as they suggest, at the beginning. I'll skip the mundane details, the normal childhood and, in their own rough way, the loving parents. I'll gloss over the awkwardness of adolescents and the hard work of growing up on a farm. I'll even miss out how I met my love, for the sake of anonymity we'll call her Esmeralda from here on in. For now let us skip to my greatest mistake, a terrible lapse of judgment and a beautiful star filled evening.

The oppressive heat of summer had been and gone, though the days were still fine the evenings had taken on an edge of chill that while not unpleasant was perfectly conducive for couples to squeeze that little bit closer and talk a little softer.

we were led out at the head of the small orchard, its lines of apple trees curving gently away toward the feeder pond, a warm breeze lent the evening a soft susurrus while above us in the clear sky hung the stars.

Esmeralda's head rested on my stomach, her auburn hair spilling out like the fiery locks of Sune herself. We talked about everything and nothing. Crops, livestock, our wedding, the family we desired, our lord, his idiot son and his wife's overly large teeth.

"If you had ten thousand florins, what would you do?" she asked, a playful grin upon her face, starting our regular game of ambition and contentment.

"That’s a lot of money. I’d buy you the finest clothes and jewels in the land my love, only the best for you."

She smiled at this "I'm sure the finest would be ruined by farm work, muck on the silk and I'm sure the pigs would eat my jewelry. Best we stick with the money we have. How about being a swordsman? What would you do if you had the finest sword?"

"The finest sword? Then I'd have the finest skills to match my love. I'd slay monsters and villain’s alik, so we could sleep safe and boast the finest treasures and trophies."

"Do you not think our house would be cramped with dragons heads on the wall, or that we'd be so tired from marching from one fight to the next? No, that'd never do. How about a wizard then, if you could cast the mightiest spells, what would you do?"

"A wizard? Well. I'd shape a better world for us my love, the summers never to hot nor winters to cold. I'd make our dreams come true."

"But the world is fine enough as it is. We've a pond for swimming when the sun is too hot, and good blankets to cuddle beneath when the snows fall." she smiled once more, then exclaimed and pointed skywards "A shooting star! Make a wish!" and I did.

I'd like to say I was a wise man. I’d like to say that I wished upon that streak of light for a long and contented life. But I was just a man, flawed, innocent and young. As a child I'd been enthralled by tales of wizards and magic and in my breast sat a bead of insecurity. How could a woman so fine and lovely really want to spend her life with a farmer. So I wished for a touch of power, both a reason for Esmeralda to be with me, and a way to shape us a better life in this world.

I didn't realize then what I had done. There was no flash of light or dire warning. Instead we carried on our night in blissful ignorance, doing what is often done by those young and in love.

Weeks passed. At night I began to have strange dreams, at first merely unusual but slowly they gained a threatening and insidious edge. After nearly a month of terrors and broken nights Esmeralda had a priest of Lathander called, he offered herbs and advice but could find no ailment within me that might cause such problems. he offered us the blessings of his lord before he left. It made no difference.

Nearly a month more passed, each night wracked with strange and terrible dreams, came the darkest night when Selune hides he light from the face of the land. On all the nights before my dreams had been strange, vague things, whereas this night was lucid and clear. I found myself on a slight rise, looking down toward a still and mirrored lake rimmed with ice. A battered and different moon lit the cold, frosted landscape that stretched away. A single figure was visible on the shore of the lake, the colour of his long robes hidden in the pale light of the moon, as I watched he turned to gaze at me, a white blankness beneath his cowl. With a gesture he bade me approach.

“I̘͙̩̦͍͎̥̞̩sͅ ͇̜̲i̠̭̞͖t͍̣̝͈͈̭̯ͅ ̹̪n̖̫̮͇͉͇ͅo̝̙̪t̙͍͙͙̪ ̥̰̞̩̤̠ͅb̼͍̫̩̳e͕̞̗͖̖a̺̬̖u̼̟͔̙͔̩t̗̺̳̜͇i̫͉̰̯̜f̩̞̯̖u̗̠ l͇͉͍̗͈̺?”


The figure asked before I had taken a place at his side, his face hidden as he gazed out over the lakes still surface.

“It…” I hesitated “It is stark

“Y͇̞̭̳o̲̣̠̩̟̮͉͔͓u̥̗ m͍̜̮a̭̩̲̲ͅd̺̫͈e̦̼͓̖ a͔̭̞̣ ͔͖͉̟̝r͕̗̮̺̪̖e̗̱̖̺͕q̺̱̙̰͓̫ͅu͇̼̼̼̭̼͚e̞s̲̭͖ṭ͓̩͉̜ ͖. ̩̲I̘̣̟͚̟ ̪͍̘a͓͓̤̹͎ͅm̞̣̯̩ h͓͙͇̤̗͓̖͙͇e̳͈̘̗̳̻r̼̝̥̜e̝ ̙̬t̖̮̱̖͎̼̬͇o̻̥̱̣̜͉̥͔͔ ̰g̪͈̬̥̜r̭͖̜ͅͅa̺n̬̦͍̻t̥̬̯̝͚͉͇ͅ i̬̻t̠̠̙̞͓͉.”


“A request? I’m not sure what…”

“Y̼̮o͕̖͙͎͈̤̻u̦̯͍̦ ͈̲͉̝ar͉̼̟e̗̭ ̮̝͖c̼̞au̠͔g̫̖̠͎h͓͔̥̬t̫͇̘͕̜ ̫̹i̳͍͙̯̣̞͙n̪̜̰̝̱̼̭ ̠͇̹t̝̭̖̩̫̟h̼̜̘͙e ̘̻th̭̘̹̠r̯͕̤̠̹͍ͅe͎̙̘̩̘͕ad̰̱s̬͉̘ ̱̪͖͇̜͕o̩f̭ ̜̥̼ḓ͍͈ḛ̳͙̠st͎͇͉͕̘i͇̗̮͙̞ny͕̼̰͍. ̭Y̹̪͔̺̜̰o͖̞̥u͍ ̞͔̘̟̟ͅm̙̖u̝s̫ț̝͖ h̟a̤ve ̺͉͕t̞h̹͚͉e͉͓̮̬̟̹ ̱̖̩̲p̱̥o̺̘̪͎we̼̗͇͈̤͎r͉͇̞̹ ̝̣t̫o̘ ̤̜̼̯̗̲̥t͇͉u͈̬̮g̟̥͕͖͎ ̱̳̟u̪͍͖̻p̫͕̞̗̦̪o̖͎̥n͔͈̹̝̼̹̳ ̘̞̯̟͎̣ͅṯ̩h̳̗̦̜͚̭ẹ̪̭̲m͇.”


“What?”

“H͎̪̘̲̫͉͓e͕̻ ̗͈o̩f̭̞f̝̝̙̥̻̱̰ͅe̹̰r͍̖̺͓̖s̱̱ ̙͈y̖̠̪̳͔̟̱o̩̞ͅu͓͉̙̘̼̣͍̘ ̩̼̮͕͔̳a̲̮̥̘̖̮̰͉ ̫̹̬s̰͖̘͉e̲̠̪͙̪̜e̜̣̞̦̬d͈̣̺ ̠o̱̞f̼̫͇̠͔̥̤ͅ ̤p̞͖̮̖̠̺̻̺̼o̭͇̹̲w͎̭̦͕͓̠̮̦e̥r͍̫̯͎,̦̱͈̯͈̲̪̩ ̼̳͖͙ͅn̗͚̠̫͚u̖̪̺̻̝̣r̼̱̩̣̰̰̼̳t̪̱͇u̹̣̹͓̺͇̼̟r͉̭͍̲͔e̺͚̟ ͎̤͍ ̬̥̲͈̜̯̗̹i͇͉̺̟t̤̭͎͓̳̦,̠̱͍̥͍͖ ͉̙a͖̪̗̯̹͈̹ṋ̟̗͇d͕͕̥̹͙ ̝͇̪̬͚̱͓̼s̞h̻a̯̦p̞̟̣̩͚̬̣̠e͕̣̘̥̤ͅ ͎̩̬̞̝̺̤͙̤t̝͓̥͕͔͉h̺̝e̹͔̜̲ͅ ̬͙̮w̼̰̳̺̫̞̫o̬̤r̯̮̣l̹̞̥̗͕d͇̦̼̩̖ͅ ̘ͅa͖͎̜s͔ ̥̙̼͚̠y̰o͍̲͉̺ụ͚ ̪̫s͚̝̫͈̜̠ͅe̠͉̖͙̜̠ͅe̘̻̹̱ ̬̫͕͓f͔̰͎̱̩̝͇̩i̯̳̻t̗̥͓̻̘͙̝.”


“Power?”

“B͖e̺͍͙̱͉̲̩͓y͇̝̖̬̖o̗̺̥̲͈̙̰ṇ̣̙͇ͅd̺̟͔̳̭͕ ̬̝t͚͎̩̟̭̺̯ͅh̭̰͎̥a̦̬̰̭̖̫̠͖̹ț̬̤͖̰͖ ̪̬͎̖͓̬̥w̗̜͔͉̜̙̮̙h̯͈̺͕̞̟i͙c̟͓̟h͍ ̝̪m̖͖̜̮̥̞̤o̗̜̠͙s̼͇̜͇̖̲͓ͅt̬̤ ͓̘̼͙̞̺̪ͅm̫͔͎̫̝͖a̜̩g͔̻͎̬̼e͉̹̗s̺̤̻̼͖̙̫̭ ̝w̱̟̜̱̭i̻e̻͇̻͓̹̹̭̝̝l̮̖̫̞͖̬̗̥d̮̦̻.̳̲ͅ ̼̩̙͕͇̼̗͚͍T̠͉̮̙͖̭̹ͅo̳̤͖͎ ̩̜͈̟u̝̺̰͙̘̖̱̠s̼̭̩͔e̙̩̠͙̜̗̥̼ͅ ̖͙̻͖͎a͓̬̝̟s̮̗͇̦̠͇͚ ̠͇͔̬y̬̰̮͙̱͉ͅo̦̟̥̺̥̩̪̖u̘͚̞̙̬ ̗̖͇̜͙̲w̞̖̥͉͈̲̳i̜̟̤̩̝̼ș͚h͓̩,̞̫̟̯̭͈̮͔ ̼͍a͓̦̳̱̫l̫̮l͚͚̱̝̣ ͖̘͈͎̩̞͈̙H͕̬̮̺͉̞e̻̥̮̩ ͈̬̻̭̦͖r̻̻̞e̬̥̭q͚̻͙̫͓̟ṵ̣͕͔̺̫͓̤ͅi̤̮̻̮r̟̹̣͉͓̪̘e̹ ̠s̪ ̮͈i͚̙̼͖͍̫̥ș͎̲̰͎̯̩̬ ͖̭̳̺͙t̙̘̙̻̰̲̞h̦͓̬̪̼̗̲a̫͙͓̩͕̳̻̘t͉͔ ̞̦̦̬͇y̙̻͚o̼̬u̳̥̥̺͙ ̖ͅg̖̹͓̦̣͈ͅr͙͖̺o͕̩w̥͎ ̝͎w̫̜̦͙͖̖̭ị̰̞̪͎ṱ̬h͇̞̻̬̝͕̰̰̤ ̤̮͖͎̤̠̟̣i̠̱͉̞t̤̹͔̭͉̺̫̰,͖̮̘̩̙ ̱̣̻̦̫a̬͉̘n̹̟̳d͉͖͓̰͇̺ ̙̤̙̗p͙̯̠̮̮̲ͅe̟̹̜r̯̞̮͈̻̯f͖̜̣̯̦̤͙ọ̭̪̬r̝͇͇̳͚͍̖m̪ ̯̫̰ ͎͈̻͍t͎͇͉h̠̗͚͙̳̳ẹ ̗͕͎̥ṭ̮̼͎̥͓͍a͕̺̖͓̜͇͚s̗̠͚̜̣͍͇̯k̫̺̯̺̙̙̪̱͔s͉͖ ̗t̬͎̣̭̲̤̙̜h͎͇̰͕e̱̟̱͉ ̥̳̦͎̮H͙̻̼̭e͇̖͍̤͔͚ ̰̲r̯̦̰͔̹̦̹e̘̹̙͕͚͖̙͇q̯u͕e̜̜̩͈̜s̳̪̖̮͖̪̺̹̫t̗̻͔̙s̤ .”


“What kind of tasks?”


"Ṡ̥͎̪̙͆̔́̇ͅi̼̹̯̯̲͑m͙̝̓̉͑p̳̤͌͆̏l͉͂̈̓ͤ͋̐̂e̫̥̣̞ ̌̀̄̒̔ͮo̤͍̻̲͑͑ͩn͑̒ͦe̟̐ͣ̋s͇͉̙̐ͯͫ͂̏."


“This is a dream?”

“I͖̞̠̙͉̟t̺͖̱̘̤̠͚̰̻̙͙̠̯ ̳̤͓͈̯̟̟͙ͅi̭̱̣͙ͅs̲̣͇͔͚̣̣͇̮̲̘̤̟͉̝ͅ.”



“Then how can I refuse?”

“S͓̖͈̭̳w̲̘̮a̮̜̥l͈̻̱̗̺͔l͖̖̮̞o̙̫̼̼͈̭ͅw͔̣̗̭̭̮̬̱͇ ̺͎̱̟̺̯t̤̤̲̬̞ẖ̭͍̮͚̗͓̪i̙̘̙͚̳̲̗̯s͖̫̮͚̼̹̬,̗̝͔̝̫ ̭̬͉̣͓̖͉̳a̱͔̲̠̱̞͚ͅn̜͈̭̠̤̫̣͎d͖̲̫̭̮̟̩̥ ̦o͙͍ṳ̻̭̥̩͕r̖̳͈̣͖̱͎ ̯̱̦̪͍͙̩͍p̯͍̦̟̠̙̦a̱̳̜c͇̟t͎̺̥̫ ̗̪̝̪͉i͎͙̩͚̣̞s͓̩͉̬͙̺̗̼ ̲͇̪͎̜̟̥s̳̫̱̳̠͉̰͍ẉ̪̯̠o͔̗r͇͔n͚̣̬.”


The figure turned to face me, for a moment I glimpsed that featureless and palid mask beneath its cowl. It held out a pale, long fingered hand. In the middle of his palm lay a tiny egg like sphere, in its heart something moved. I took the thing and gazed into it, watching the shape at its center squirm and writhe.

“What is it?”

“B̦̻͍͈̞o̪͚̪t̟͉̩̺͍h͙̦̠̱͉͙ ̰̯̯̝̫y̻o̯͍͖̩͖̯͚ur̘̜͉̭̗ ̱p̮͎̝͚̮̬͓o͕̳̲̤̗we͇̳̩͕̝̰ͅr̘͙̗̯̜͔ͅ ̱̹̰̗̦̳a͇̤̰̠̺n͓d ̭̤̟̥̥̫y͉̜̯͎̥̝̝ọ̥͇u̘̳ṟ̣͓̱͉̦ ͉̰̯̮͕ke̘̟͎̝̦̼y͚̻̬̰̹̻͇,̯̹̺̲ ̺̲̖͉g̼̠̹͖r̳̱͙̹͚o͖̫͍̱͓̳w̟͖̦͚̝̝ͅ ͓̟̗i̲̦̼̫̮̣t͕̺̞̗̤͔ ̙̻̰͚̙͍͇wi̝tḫị͖̲͚͙̯n̦̞͔̪̺͙ ͖͕y̫̣̜̤̭̼̠o̞u̜̖̙̯,̤̫͇͖̟ ̻̜s̥͙̬̳̯h͚͕̟̲͍a̱̦̭pe̯͚̣̻͎͚̮ ̹̝ṭ̞̤h̥͍e͙͔͎̣̭̺ ͓̘̼̞w͖o͖rḽ̖͖d͚͕͈ͅ ͖̬͇̙̟a̞̭̰̗s̠̘̤̙̬ ͚̻y̻̭̰̩̭͈o̞u̠ ̥̠w̬̜͙͓ͅi̬l̩͍l̬̻̣̪͙̬̯ ̙̱̫̜̘͈̝a͇̖̯̩͙ͅn̲ḍ̫̭̳̖̬̝ b̦̪̮̤̮ͅe͖̬̠͎c̝͎̞̦ͅo̫̭̜͓͇͖̖m͉̺̟̹͉̙̠e̖͖̩͈̣̯̻ ̙̥h͈͔i͈͈̦͙̦͓ͅș̬ ͕̞͕̤͍̘̞g͉̻a̹̺̮̬̣̗ͅt͔̻̣̟e ̬͕̤͔̙i̥̟n̰̻̗̞͙̥̼ṯo͙͈̳̹̞͕ ̥̖͍͍̤t̬ḥ͖͚͍̜̳ͅe̳̭̦͉̠̖̩ ̥̘͙̲w̠̬̜o̫̖̗ͅr͓̯̯̗̤͖͔l͎͙̙̠̭ḍ̱̹.̤̻͖̦͖̫


How could I refuse? It was a dream, it wasn’t real. A figment of my tired mind dwelling on old ambitions and long forgotten wishes. I swallowed the pill.


A week later, I blew up a cow.



__________________
Eira Skald - Icy bitch.
Karsten Mannerheim - Idealist and murderer.
Vincent Hopkins - Witch Hunter and man of faith.
Aedan Gilter - Dreamer of broken dreams.
Henry L. Jones - Oh god, I can see forever.
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