Madrigal Story
So trying to get floon for revel, since now we have babysitting again and can attend, yay! But being gone for awhile makes it rough to get excited, SO I'm embracing the absence as an excuse for some writing and reminding myself of all the awesome people there.
Here goes!
The darkness soaked into her quicker than the cold. Sasha adjusted here stance knowing she couldn't get any more comfortable, but hoping to push some heat into her extremities. She knew this night wasn't darker than any other, but it sure felt like it. Maybe it was the quiet. It was an unnatural silence, the holding of breath before the snuff of a candle, the dying of wind right before a storm, the calm before the fight. Her fingers were numb around the hilt of her sword and she waited, just as she had all the nights before.
Her heart wasn't fully here. It was in Eluivar. In Lochsmoor. In still sanctuaries and a bustling tavern. Most of all, it was in Shadowfane. Time didn't seem to pass these days. It was just one fight after another, one more bloody night after another. There was no harvest to gather, no babies to soothe, no rising of trees or falling leaves. Just the cold, and the blood. She'd missed the wedding, and oh how that made her heart ache. She closed her eyes and imagined the gentle faces of her sisters, finally open like late blooming flowers, together and happy. When was the last time the sun had touched their faces like that? The last time they all shared a green hill in summer, their tree shading them, bathed in a moment of peace.
Where was Kayjack singing these days? Where had Averick gone to study? Was Amos eating enough? She hoped Rowan had found some peace, that Grayves had found his answers, that Sakal was keeping out of too much trouble. She'd have given anything to be leaning into Rodrick and listen to him tease Grum, to be watching Locke introducing himself as the sheriff, and Ezrem rolling her eyes. If she listened hard enough she heard Zephyr's flute and Alex's bells. If she tried, she could even feel the warmth of Maven's hands and smell the smoke from Ragnar's fire stories. Was Klee happy? Was Adeon minding his manners? Was Mira still writing, Ophelia still dreaming? Was Semnic and Solei getting on with everyone?
A crack brings her back to the present, but after a moment of strained listening the gypsy attributes it to the small fire at the center of the ring of vardos. She can see the faint outlines of her kin hidden about the camp. She knows better and yet can't help but feel disappointed none among those shadows are not any of Tiger's Shadow. Hopefully Sonia had gotten the chance to sing their song to Sarcciano. She wanted to share supper with Bladesworn and drink Maggie's beer with Rosie and forget why she had to be here, bent over in the bitter night waiting.
So many faces she longed to see. So many voices she missed ringing in her ears. She thinks of the voices of the troubadours and it's all she can do to keep from humming along with the memories. She wants the weight of the banner in her hands and not the bite of the metal of the sword in her hand despite her fondness for the weapon. Petros had made it just for her, and he'd done so with all the respect of her anger, with all the intent to fight beside her. She smiles into the cold night, tears welling in her eyes. She missed them. Every single person in Shadowfane. She'd shed blood with all of them, healed many of their wounds, listened to numerous hopes and fears. She'd shared laughter with them, and stories and long moonless nights. She had to go home.
She had to go home.
The call came and she was on her feet, even as the first of the ravenous, mindless pawns came from nowhere into the light of the fire. A scream, and then a roar as the gypsies met the onslaught from the darkness. Lightning danced down her blade as she drove it through one of them as it clambered by her. Then she leapt up and over the driver's seat of the wagon and made a run for a unseen destination. Even after all of this time, she was not really a warrior, and used her lightning to keep her path clear. One of the bound slammed into her and sent her skittering across the snow. It's all she can do to keep it at bay, sword pressed against its weight as it claws at her face. A heavy crossbow bolt cracks into it's side and pins it to the earth several feet away. She hurries to her feet despite the snow and looks gratefully at her husband, and Grum can only spare a nod to his love as he roars after another.
Up on her feet once more she manages to evade the mob as the beleaguered gypsies drive their foes with murderous intent. She reaches a pile of kindling, and the smell of heavy oil fills her nose as she strike it with a spark of lightning. With a thunderous crack, and a roar of flame, the fire spreads with vicious speed, encircling the wagons within moments, tracing drawn lines towards the heart of the camp. As she looks up and past the fire, deafened by its fervor and the screams of the dying dead, her eyes meet with a face that would be set in her mind forever. The soulless gaze that met hers as she slowly straightened to stand knew she was the reason that they sent their fodder into the gypsy camps first now. Knew why the ground know burned with the effigy of her people, a protective wheel against the blood thirsty darkness. She met that gaze despite her fear. She stood tall despite the fact her hands shook. Before the nameless vampire turned to withdraw into the night once again, they shared a look that promised violence, as the stars witnessed the blazing wheel of a people unwilling to be pray anymore than they had been slaves.
Here goes!
The darkness soaked into her quicker than the cold. Sasha adjusted here stance knowing she couldn't get any more comfortable, but hoping to push some heat into her extremities. She knew this night wasn't darker than any other, but it sure felt like it. Maybe it was the quiet. It was an unnatural silence, the holding of breath before the snuff of a candle, the dying of wind right before a storm, the calm before the fight. Her fingers were numb around the hilt of her sword and she waited, just as she had all the nights before.
Her heart wasn't fully here. It was in Eluivar. In Lochsmoor. In still sanctuaries and a bustling tavern. Most of all, it was in Shadowfane. Time didn't seem to pass these days. It was just one fight after another, one more bloody night after another. There was no harvest to gather, no babies to soothe, no rising of trees or falling leaves. Just the cold, and the blood. She'd missed the wedding, and oh how that made her heart ache. She closed her eyes and imagined the gentle faces of her sisters, finally open like late blooming flowers, together and happy. When was the last time the sun had touched their faces like that? The last time they all shared a green hill in summer, their tree shading them, bathed in a moment of peace.
Where was Kayjack singing these days? Where had Averick gone to study? Was Amos eating enough? She hoped Rowan had found some peace, that Grayves had found his answers, that Sakal was keeping out of too much trouble. She'd have given anything to be leaning into Rodrick and listen to him tease Grum, to be watching Locke introducing himself as the sheriff, and Ezrem rolling her eyes. If she listened hard enough she heard Zephyr's flute and Alex's bells. If she tried, she could even feel the warmth of Maven's hands and smell the smoke from Ragnar's fire stories. Was Klee happy? Was Adeon minding his manners? Was Mira still writing, Ophelia still dreaming? Was Semnic and Solei getting on with everyone?
A crack brings her back to the present, but after a moment of strained listening the gypsy attributes it to the small fire at the center of the ring of vardos. She can see the faint outlines of her kin hidden about the camp. She knows better and yet can't help but feel disappointed none among those shadows are not any of Tiger's Shadow. Hopefully Sonia had gotten the chance to sing their song to Sarcciano. She wanted to share supper with Bladesworn and drink Maggie's beer with Rosie and forget why she had to be here, bent over in the bitter night waiting.
So many faces she longed to see. So many voices she missed ringing in her ears. She thinks of the voices of the troubadours and it's all she can do to keep from humming along with the memories. She wants the weight of the banner in her hands and not the bite of the metal of the sword in her hand despite her fondness for the weapon. Petros had made it just for her, and he'd done so with all the respect of her anger, with all the intent to fight beside her. She smiles into the cold night, tears welling in her eyes. She missed them. Every single person in Shadowfane. She'd shed blood with all of them, healed many of their wounds, listened to numerous hopes and fears. She'd shared laughter with them, and stories and long moonless nights. She had to go home.
She had to go home.
The call came and she was on her feet, even as the first of the ravenous, mindless pawns came from nowhere into the light of the fire. A scream, and then a roar as the gypsies met the onslaught from the darkness. Lightning danced down her blade as she drove it through one of them as it clambered by her. Then she leapt up and over the driver's seat of the wagon and made a run for a unseen destination. Even after all of this time, she was not really a warrior, and used her lightning to keep her path clear. One of the bound slammed into her and sent her skittering across the snow. It's all she can do to keep it at bay, sword pressed against its weight as it claws at her face. A heavy crossbow bolt cracks into it's side and pins it to the earth several feet away. She hurries to her feet despite the snow and looks gratefully at her husband, and Grum can only spare a nod to his love as he roars after another.
Up on her feet once more she manages to evade the mob as the beleaguered gypsies drive their foes with murderous intent. She reaches a pile of kindling, and the smell of heavy oil fills her nose as she strike it with a spark of lightning. With a thunderous crack, and a roar of flame, the fire spreads with vicious speed, encircling the wagons within moments, tracing drawn lines towards the heart of the camp. As she looks up and past the fire, deafened by its fervor and the screams of the dying dead, her eyes meet with a face that would be set in her mind forever. The soulless gaze that met hers as she slowly straightened to stand knew she was the reason that they sent their fodder into the gypsy camps first now. Knew why the ground know burned with the effigy of her people, a protective wheel against the blood thirsty darkness. She met that gaze despite her fear. She stood tall despite the fact her hands shook. Before the nameless vampire turned to withdraw into the night once again, they shared a look that promised violence, as the stars witnessed the blazing wheel of a people unwilling to be pray anymore than they had been slaves.