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Another Life (Cheshire Smirk & darkangel76)

darkangel76

darkangel76

.:The Vampiric Fae:.
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Jan 26, 2010
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Why do you care?
The sun had only just risen above the horizon causing what had been darkened sky to lighten. And now, the broad expanse of pale just above the ocean was riddled with soft streaks of purples and oranges. It was quite a sight to behold, one that Amarylis Maylin had never thought she'd ever see. Not until that fateful day she'd set out upon her journey to see the world and 'find' herself—much to the chagrin of her parents who'd had no choice but to let her go and face her fate, whatever that might be. Though so far, the young bard had no complaints. The world was full of fancy and beauty. The stories of old had said as much and she was bound and determined to experience them for herself, to see the wonders that the world held, to find love, to see the great waters that kissed the lands from afar. And now... now she was doing just that.

So far, Amarylis had to admit that the stories of romance and adventure were true—not that she'd ventured all that far. After all, she'd only seen the town of Falk—a small farming village east of her own—and now was in the coastal town of Belbarren. But Belbarren... what a place! It was the largest town she'd ever been in, full of life and color and song. Even now in the wee hours of morning, people were starting to bustle about. It brought a smile to her face and made her want to dance with delight. It was so different from her own hometown of Merrowdowns—a place where nothing happened. Nothing at all.

Amarlyis walked toward the shores, her delicate hands smoothing her white skirts as she walked along the sand and listened to the sound of the crashing waves. It was soothing, relaxing... inspiring. Softly, she began to hum, a little tune of her own creation that filled her in that moment as she rested her dark blue eyes upon those waters in the distance. Smiling, she reached up and pushed some of her mousy hair behind an ear, the wind blowing along the beach in a pleasant manner and bringing with it the lovely aroma of salty sea air. It was wonderful and made her glad that she was in Belbarren in that exact moment, a moment she'd never forget and would commit to memory.

Just then, Amarylis looked up into the sky. The soft hues of sunrise were giving way to morning and soon she'd need to make her way back to the inn for breakfast. Her tummy rumbled at the thought and it made her giggle. She could already taste the delicious food as her mind swirled at the thought. Food, stories, song... it would be joyous! Memorable! Without further haste, she turned on her heels, her ashy hair swishing behind her as she moved and began heading back so that she could get something to eat and then begin exploring the city that much more.
 
"Sound the alarms! Sunderfang vessels have been spotted to the east!"

The sleepy town was suddenly alive with noise. Deep, tolling bells rang out to rouse any still sleeping. Those bells were loud enough to be heard at sea and were meant to call all ships to port, all men from the fields and all merchants to arms. The elderly and the children sought shelter together wherever they could find safe refuge, while both man and woman donned armor and moved as swiftly as possible to the harbor to greet the unwelcome visitors. Crimson sails unfurled and massive oars stretched down from the invading Longships, a powerful trade wind blowing the invaders swiftly towards the town. It was unfortunate that the small town had neither the wealth nor manpower to build real fortifications, the Sunderfang barbarians were famed for their vicious and efficient raids. Renowned blacksmiths and relentless warmongers, every Sunderfang vessel was prepared to siege even the most defended keep. Trebuchets swiveled into place on the decks of each ship, loaded with clusters of flaming iron munitions the size of a man's head. The fleet totaled nine ships, each vessel home to four of those wicked siege devices.

Fire rained down upon the town when the vessels drew into range, softening up any defense that could be mustered. Building old and new, large and small burst into flames as they were struck by the ordinance. Only enough men to work the trebuchets remained on deck, the bulk of the invasion force waited safe in the holds below and would not emerge until the ships forced their way into port. Even down below the men were still part of the assault, beating on heavy drums and roaring battle-hymns in their strange, almost bestial tongue. The tolling bell was overpowered by the battle-hymns and thunder of the drums, a cacophony of impending death.

(sorry it's short >< got a migraine :C )
 
Just as Amarylis began to head away from the shores and back toward the inn where she knew she'd be able to get a wonderfully delicious breakfast, she suddenly heard the deafening tones of bells sounding throughout the air. Instantly, she stopped dead in her tracks, her head twisting toward that resonating sound as she narrowed her blue eyes into slits. A look of confusion swept over her face as she wondered what was suddenly going on. Voices, shouts... so much commotion and chaos. And it was all happening so quickly.

Amarylis caught the word... 'Sunderfang'. She recognized it, but had only heard of them in adventure stories passed down from generation to generation back in her hometown of Merrowdown. They weren't real. Were they? Swallowing hard, she swung around and looked back out upon the waters, the sun creeping higher into the sky. She brought a hand up to cover her brow as the wind blew along the sandy shores, blowing her mousy hair partially across her face.

And there they were, ominous shadows coming into view, vessels unlike anything she'd ever seen. With the sun rising overhead and daylight finally taking over, they were now coming into view. They were several and they looked armed, dangerous, strong. Panic washed over Amarylis in that moment as realization set in, everyone about her who'd been up to greet the sun running for cover and shelter. She had to move. She had to get back to the inn. Those vessels were fast approaching, moving with a speed unlike anything she'd ever seen. What devilry was this? How could they move like that over such waters?

Shaking, Amarylis turned back toward town and began to run. But it was hard to run on the sand, her ankles twisting as she inefficiently tried to make her way across the beach and back to where she hoped she could find the cover of safety. Though even that had her fearful since houses were alight with flame as fire flew from those ships, setting everything in its path ablaze.

Desperately trying to move quickly, Amarylis stumbled and then tripped on her skirts, her tiny body tumbling down upon the sand. All the softness of the beach that had been there during sunrise had disappeared and been replaced with unforgiving cruelty as these strange ships swiftly and relentlessly approached Belbarren.

Not wanting to give up the hope of seeking cover, Amarylis, tried to get up. She grabbed at her skirt and tried to scramble back up to her feet, but only ended up tripping once more as more shouts and screams filled the air, her ears, her panic consuming her wholly. She dared to look behind her in that moment, a morbid curiosity taking siege and causing her to assess her chances. But as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't for the ships had already arrived and strange people were coming ashore only adding to the chaos of the screams and fire.
 
A wave of sinew and steel spilled down the boarding ladders, crashing onto the docks and pushing through the "rallied" town defenders. Pitchfork splintered against war-scythe, Axes accustomed to splitting firewood shattered against the broad, heavy heads of battle-axes. In under a minute the docks belonged to the Sunderfangs, steel-clad behemoths rushed and spread out into the town, wreaking havoc while their siege-armaments continued to rain hell down onto the battlefield.


One man stuck out against the others in the barbaric battalion. Four of the town's finest guards were engaged in fierce combat with him, trying their hardest to overcome the strangest weapons they had ever seen. Two wide heavy blades were attached to the man's forearms, blades extending roughly six inches past his knuckles. Each bladed gauntlet also had a long barbed chain hanging down from it, chains grasped in the man's hands.

The warrior slashed and whipped, eviscerating the opponent in front of him while matching range with a halberd-wielding defender. The warrior moved with an unearthly grace, parrying and thrusting with an almost bored look on his face. Every now and again the man would kick out with a wicked clawed boot, just another weapon to keep his opposition at bay.

A woman rushed to aid the embattled warrior, bashing the halberd wielder hard in the back of the head with her gilded shield then impaling a second man on the end of her heavy short-spear. The warrior with the arm-blades quickly stepped forward to meet his aid, standing back-to-back with her as more of the town's better trained guards came to stop their advance. Man after man died to the pair, unable to strike even a single blow. Together they worked deeper into the town as an unstoppable whirlwind of steel and fury, laying low any foolish enough to stand in their place.

Their rampage was cut short as a lone arrow flew true and hit it's mark, slipping past the woman's shield and biting deep into her chest. The woman shrieked in pain and then tore the arrow free of her chest, dropping it to the ground without a thought. The wounded woman fought on, pressing hard against the three men who'd come between her and her charge. Her companion fought with redoubled vigor, cutting down the men who'd tried to separate them. As the third man died the woman succumbed to her wound, falling forward as her life slipped away. She was caught by her companion, who pulled her swiftly into his arms.

"Arzale...Today...I fulfill...my...vow" The woman sputtered, coughing up blood with every syllable.

"Larethia...Hold on. This is but a flesh wound compared to other hurts you've sustained!" The man growled, shaking her in vain attempts to rouse her.


The warrior known as Arzale looked around swiftly, trying to find some safe place to tend to his companions wounds. Arzale kept his burden close to his chest, those broad blades on his forearms now serving as a shield while he ran to a spot on the beach that was free of fighting. A lone woman was the only person on that beach, apparently unable to get up off the sands. Arzale made a mad dash towards her, moving with surprising speed for somebody carrying another person in full battle-gear in his arms.
 
What had started out as a peaceful morning, so serene and calm and full of quiet, was turning into chaos and mayhem in one fell swoop. It brought tears to Amarylis' eyes, eyes that only moments ago were the color of the sea only now that sea was running red with the blood of slaughtered men, women... children. It was a nightmare from the blackest depths of hell turned into bitter reality as she watched the threads suddenly unravel and reveal themselves before her. She let out a blood-curdling scream, but it was lost amongst the other shouts of terror as the savage men donning strange clothes and weapons stormed the beaches, the town as if it was already theirs.

Then again, with the way these strange people—Sunderfang, they called themselves—Amyrilis supposed that they had possession of Belbarren the moment their great ships had the coastal town within their sights. Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to scramble along the sands of the shore toward the chaos of the town. Why she felt she'd be safer there, she didn't know. Perhaps it was the crowd of runners, maybe she felt as if she'd blend in being a faceless no one amongst them all as she sought cover and shelter. No matter, her feet just weren't cooperating as she tried to move up the beach, her skirts ever getting in the way. Hang it all! But she wouldn't let it deter her. No. She'd keep moving. She had to.

As Amyrilis moved and stumbled along the sands, she caught a glimpse of something rushing toward her. What was it? What? She turned her head, her ash blonde hair falling in front of her face causing her to have to brush it away so that she could properly see. The moment she was able to find her focus, her eyes widened and fear washed over her. A man carrying something was charging toward her. He was big and terrifying and the last thing she wanted was for him to reach her.

Without further hesitation, Amyrilis turned and began to move, all her energy going into hoisting herself up so that she could make her way toward the town. Her eyes searched for the inn, but she couldn't find it.

"Please..." Amarylis whimpered, panicking resonating in her tone. "Where is it... not now. Not now..." She bit down on her lip as she searched in vain, her breaths coming shorter as she heard the pounding footfalls approaching faster, faster... Adrenaline consuming her entire body, her heart ready to burst through her chest, she glanced back only to see the man right on her heels. "Leave me alone!" she shouted as she continued to run. "Just leave me alone!"
 
"Stop! Stop damn you! If she dies I swear by the gods I'll rip your heart from your chest with my bare hands." Arzale roared.

Running, jostling and bumping around were the worst possible things for stabilizing the dying woman. Arzale quickly went to his knees and then set Larethia down on the sands. The woman's chest rose and fell in short labored bursts, more blood gushing from the wound with every heart beat. Heavy coughs racked her body, thick droplets of blood rising up from her throat with each cough. Arzale searched himself desperately for any fabric or leather he could cut, anything he could use to make a tourniquette. This couldn't be happening, this simply could not be happening. Hundreds of battles the two had fought side by side, and now Larethia was to be laid low by a single lucky arrow? Was this some sort of cruel joke the gods were playing on him in his sleep? The feel of blood on his hands was confirmation that this nightmare was all too real. "It can't end like this, oh gods do not let her die here..."Arzale thought, panic beginning to finally set in. Arzale had seen men cut in two by ballista bolts, seen their skin burned off by hot oil dumped from murder-holes. He'd scalped, decapitated, flayed and eviscerated men beyond number without the slightest bit of remorse or hestiation...And yet the sight of his Shield-Maiden dying shook him to his very core.

"Bring me your shirt! NOW!"

Arzale looked up at the running woman, prepared to run her down if he had to. Swiftly Arzale removed his arm blades, setting them aside. The barbarian stood and drew his long belt knife, waiting for the terrified woman to comply with his order. Every second counted, every second that passed was time Larethia simply did not have. Arzale looked back to the town, sighing at the fact that nobody had noticed the two were not present for the sacking of the town. They had medics for this sort of shit! Men and women equipped and trained to save lives. Healing poultices and salves, proper bandages, even equipment for suturing the worst of wounds. Where were they now?! Desperation took hold of Arzale and he began to hack at the right sleeve of his leather cuirass. The leather was thinnest there and not reinforced by metal, no need to reinforce areas that would be covered by those outlandish heavy blades. Unfortunately even at it's thinnest the masterfully made leather was just too tough for a belt knife to cut through. Crazed frustration was apparent on Arzale's face as he continued to try and tear enough leather free to bind the wound.

"Hurry damn it! Shes' DYING!"
 
Amrylis could hear the loud shouts of the man pursuing her resonating in her ears despite the chaos as she tried her best to run along the sandy shores. Sand was kicking up as she moved, her skirts constantly getting in the way, causing her to stumble several times. Finally, she let out a shriek as she fell onto all fours. Her knees stung, no doubt bloodied from the tiny tumble. Looking up, her blue eyes rested upon the town burning in the distance. The screams of the people frantically running about, desperately fighting or seeking shelter were louder now than before as she'd neared the roads. And as she peered out at the mayhem that had unfolded, she found her eyes shifting to a familiar face in the crowd, one of someone she'd met at the inn the night before.

"Kagan?" Amarylis whispered, but her words were cut short, as were her thoughts. The angry voice from behind was closer now and just as her eyes connected with Kagan's she looked away and over her shoulder.

Amarylis could see the great warrior of a man hovering over the crumpled form of a woman and, from the looks of it, she was in a bad way. With eyes as wide as saucers, her heart pounding hard beneath her breast, she suddenly found her feet taking her toward the pair. She wondered if she'd suddenly lost her mind, all of her sense gone. Truly, this was madness. But she couldn't let the woman die, not when this man who only moments ago had been tearing Belbarren apart had literally been torn to pieces at the sight of his companion in such a way. No. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing, even if she didn't know what to do.

"Here," Amarylis said shakily, her hands trembling at the sight of so much blood. She handed the man her cape and began to unfasten her corset. "Perhaps the fastenings will help?" she suggested hoping that the cords would help act as a tourniquet. The moment she removed it, she handed it over. Kneeling beside the woman, she took a hold of her hand and smiled. "He is doing what he can. Hopefully, you are comfortable."

With her free hand, Amarylis pushed rested it against the woman's forehead. But it had already turned so cold, so very cold. She looked over at the man tending to his companion and bit down on her lip. She wasn't skilled in the ways of war or medicine, but it seemed as if everything they were doing was for naught. However, with the desperation he seemed to be exhibiting, she wasn't about to tell him that. All she could do was as he requested. After that, it was fate's will. She just hoped that he didn't blame her if things ended badly.
 
Arzale worked swiftly, tying a tight tourniquette around the wound. Larethia groaned and turned to face Arzale, reaching up to weakly grip his hand. Both of Arzale's large hands curled around hers and he looked down into her eyes, willing the woman to hold on just a little longer. A great spasm of coughs racked Larethia's body, blood spilling from her mouth. It looked like this was the end for the mortally wounded woman.

"Arzale...I...I can see the Golden Halls. I'll keep a glass ready for you..."

The light faded from Larethia's eyes, her weak grasp finally slipping. Arzale's gaze lingered on the dead woman's face, unable to believe this had truly happened. Memories washed over Arzale in a torrent of grief, he thought of their bonding ceremony. Arzale thought of the battles he'd only survived because of Larethia's vigilance, and of the countless frigid nights she'd brought warmth and succor to. Pale, lifeless hand was brought to arzale's lips and he kissed it gently, whispering his farewell in the almost forgotten ancient tongue of his people.

Thundering footsteps shook the sand as five Sunderfang warriors charged over to their downed companion. They surrounded the three and looked down at the scene, trying to gather what they could from the silence. One of the men spoke in a low, somber voice. The words would fall on deaf ears though, Arzale was too far lost in memory to respond.

"A tragic loss...But the legends will speak of her for centuries to come."

With that two of the men bent down to pick Larethia up. Arzale pushed them away and retrieved her himself, moving to his feet. Arzale held Larethia's body with nothing short of reverence, keeping her close to his chest. Tonight would not be a night of feasting and celebration on deck, tonight would be a night of somber remembrance. Arzale looked down to his weapons and spoke.

"Grab my blades. Larethia is my burden to carry."


The five sunderfangs formed an honor guard around Arzale and his charge, though they looked expectantly at Amarylis. It was fairly obvious that she was being commandeered from the wreckage of the burning town. For what purpose? Nobody knew. But there really wasn't much room to argue with men that large and well-armed.
 
Amarylis knelt by the woman and watched her slip away to another realm. Her blue eyes darted to that of the large man kneeling on the other side of his companion, fear washing over her body causing it to tremble and quake like the leaves of the aspen in springtime. His face showed despair of the worst sort and she hoped it didn't turn to anger. At the moment, she was the only one there he could potentially lash out at and already he'd spoken angry words that had made her frightened of a wrath that could potentially be unleashed given the delicacy of this particular situation.

All too soon, however, Amarylis, found herself surrounded by more large warrior-men and the one who'd been tending his companion picked up her dead body and began carrying her off toward their vessels docked on the shores of a town that had once happily buzzed with life, color and song. Now it just burned with orange flame and the shrieks of many filled the air as they cried out in morbid despair.

Amarylis noticed that her way back toward the mayhem of Belbarren was blocked and barred, a calculated move by those with man carrying his dead companion. She could tell by his tone that he'd meant for her to follow, but... why? Panicking, she tried to peer around the Sunderfang, but there was no way around them, nowhere to run. She'd lost sight of Kagan amidst the chaos and now knew she was truly alone, on her own.

Looking back over at the large man she'd helped, Amarylis swallowed hard, her eyes prickling with tears at the thought of leaving the shores of solid ground for a fate unknown. But, she'd had no choice... Picking up her skirts with her tiny hands, she stood up upon the sands and began to follow, her head hung causing her ash-colored hair to hang in front of her face. She didn't bother to fix it or move it out of the way. What point was there? Slowly, she followed, her feet feeling like lead as she walked, her ankles no longer twisting with each step, somehow working efficiently, no stumbling now... before she knew it, she was on board a strange vessel, her body feeling the rocking sway of the ocean waves as they crashed against the ship she'd just boarded.

Now what... now what would become of her?

Amarylis had no idea. She could only hope that somehow she'd stay alive, stay in one piece... but what darkness! Who knew that this sunrise would bring such sorrow?
 
"Brothers! Sisters, gather close. Today's raid brought great spoils and wealth to the Sunderfang, but also a deep sorrow."
The man who spoke leaned slightly on the long haft of a broadspear, his face more scar-tissue than skin. One eye was sealed forever, closed by a long black scar that stretched from eye-brow to jaw. The other eye was a dark crimson, cataracts beginning to cloud it's edges. This was Azor Cliffshatter, chieftain of the Sunderfang tribe. His booming rumble of a voice could be heard even below deck and all who heard it responded swiftly to the summons.

Two hundred souls were gathered on deck, circling around Azor. Arzale stood beside Azor, still holding Larethia in his arms. The woman's shield and spear rested crossed at Arzale's feet. A spot was waiting on the left side of chieftain Cliffshatter, left open for the woman that would be Arzale's new shield-maiden. Azor cleared his throat and continued to speak, eyes moving over each face in the crowd, searching for any other losses that may have gone unnoticed.

"Today a Maiden fulfilled her vows to the shield. Larethia gave her life to ensure that Arzale would fight another day, to ensure that the Sunderfangs would have their champion for at least one more sunrise. We cannot enjoy the fruits of our labor without first honoring her memory and ensuring she reaches the Great Wilds. We cannot feast until she is feasting in the Golden Halls."

Azor turned to Arzale and nodded wordlessly. Arzale looked to the heavens and began to sing with eyes closed, his voice deep and full of a tragic power. Ancient words, holy words he sang. First came words of welcome, of greeting. Then came words of hunting, words of feasting. Words of cold nights warmed by another, and then words of battle. Words of joy, words of anger, words of sorrow and finally words of parting. One by one each Sunderfang took a knee in silence, all eyes on Arzale and Larethia. Larethia was then laid on the deck and her weapons returned to her. First Arzale rested her shield on her chest, then he settled her spear between her fingers.

"I stand more alone than I have ever known. Without my shield I am defenseless. I am fury without guidance, I am an eagle without wind. Save a mug for me old friend, I shall join you in the Golden Halls some day..."


With that Arzale bent and carefully retrieved Larethia's body. Shield and spear were removed and retrieved by Azor, who held them with reverence. Complete silence met Arzale's ears as he carried Larethia's body to the ship's railing. Arzale bent and gave Larethia a final kiss on the forehead before sending her overboard, giving her to the seas she'd spent most of her life sailing. Slowly Arzale moved to retrieve Larethia's shield and spear. Three times he looked at the gathered Sunderfangs, and then he spoke.
"No Maiden is ready to take Larethia's place at my side. Only Larethia has been called back to the Golden Halls this day. However, one other soul witnessed Larethia's passing from this world."

Arzale made an even, deliberate pace towards Amarylis. Both shield and spear were then offered to the girl, Arzale's steel-grey eyes locking hard onto Amarylis' face. It was obvious refusal was not an option here, Amarylis' fate had been decided by custom.

"You watched her fade with me. You are to take her place as Shield-Maiden. Any others would dishonor her memory."
 
Amarylis' blue eyes widened at the words she'd just heard. Had she indeed heard this man correctly? She was to take the place of the woman who'd just been killed in battle? He couldn't possibly be serious! She wasn't skilled in the ways of war, had never held a sword or spear. Blood made her... queasy... Didn't it? Of that final though, she wasn't certain, watching the woman die and sputter blood was her first experience in seeing such a thing. It had hit her hard to witness such tragedy, but she'd just reacted when told to... No. No. The very idea was ludicrous to say the least!

Blue eyes locking with the warrior's steely gray, Amarylis' mouth began to open and close like that of a fish. She knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to protest, to shout out how wrong a choice she was. She was nothing like the woman they were all mourning. She'd been terrified at the sight of them all as they'd made anchor and run ashore, burned Belbarren and taken it without a care. No! She could not do this. Would not...

But his eyes... Amarylis could plainly see that she could not defy them. A strange wave of fear, or was it something else? It washed over her completely and as she trembled she suddenly found herself nodding, her mousy hair hanging about her face in a tousled manner. Slowly, she raised her hand and pushed it out of the way, so that she could look upon his face properly. Her face was dirty, her eyes stinging with tears. But it was no use. She was outnumbered, surrounded by strange people on a strange ship bound for places she could only begin to dream about or imagine. Her fate was no longer hers to decide. It was his.

Again, Amarylis nodded, her eyes closing as a tear fell down along a pale cheek. She looked down to the floor, feeling helpless and hopeless, terrified that a fate of death was now her future and that the sea her would-be grave. She wasn't ready for this and she didn't think she ever could be. At that, she brought her hands up to her face and began to weep against them.
 
"She is soft and meek, of inferior stock! Malya will break her in two! Arzale, you are mad with grief. Go below deck and get some mead, get your head together." A woman spoke out, stepping from the silent crowd. Short for her people and lithe, the woman was clad in blood soaked chain-mail with shield and longsword in hand.


Arzale turned, standing as tall as he could. The warrior seemed to loom over even the tallest of his peers, sudden wrath amplifying his presence. Arzale held Larethia's spear and spear tight, weapons drawn for battle. Arzale did his best to respond in an even voice, though he could not keep anger's strain from the measured words. It was obvious he would accept no other solution.

"You know as well as I do that Malya has not even started her first training with the Younglings. You also know that Larethia's spirit will live on in those that saw her pass. Or do you not believe that Larethia will guide the one that follows in her footsteps? Do you believe she would abandon ME?"

The color drained from the chain-garbed woman's face as she realized the unintended implications of her words. Amarylis was chosen because of faith, of belief in the Warrior's Spirit. Speaking against such a choice was denying generations of custom and casting tradition to the dogs. Despite the confrontation there were murmurs of agreement running through the crowd, surely no outsider could adapt to the life of a Maiden! Especially not one so small and fearful. Arzale heard the whispers and grew more enraged, stomping a clawed boot hard on the deck to stifle the chatter.

"I will stand alone against any who defy my choice in the Ring of Sorrow. Dishonor Larethia's memory and the soil will drink deep of your blood."

A dire challenge, and one issued without intention of bluff. Stunned silence fell over the crowd at Arzale's words. The Ring of Sorrow was the Sunderfang's most sacred way of settling disputes. A simple ring twenty feet in diameter for two parties to settle their differences with steel when words failed. A fight in the Ring of Sorrow was a fight to the death. A few of the observers shifted uncomfortably, quickly moving to take care of anything that could get them away from this situation. Arzale then once again offered shield and spear to Amarylis, waiting for her to take the objects.
 
Amarylis composed herself, but only just as she listened to everyone shouting about her. Some were just as apprehensive as she was and for good reason. She was no warrior, but a humble maid from Merrowdown. Oh how far away it seemed now that she was aboard this strange vessel filled with oddly dressed people speaking of strange customs and dark fates that made her blood turn cold.

So many faces seemed to be staring upon her in wait. What they were expecting, she wasn't certain, but she knew what she needed to do even if it terrified her and even if she felt doomed to failure before even beginning. She looked over at the man called Arzale, her heart pumping hard as she watched him. He held a presence unlike any she'd ever come across in her nineteen years. Then again, she'd never been so far from home...

Biting down on her lip, Amarylis looked up into those piercing eyes of Arzale's. It was as if he was looking straight into her heart, judging the worth of her soul. Was it possible for another human to do such a thing? If so, she was sure that this man was capable.

Amarylis then reached out, her tiny hands shaking as she allowed her slender fingers to take hold of the shield and spear that had once belonged to the fallen woman who now belonged to the seas. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as her fingers made contact with the strange weapons, items of such she'd never touched before. Her mouth went dry and knees began to wobble. Feeling dizzy, she felt as though she'd faint. But she couldn't do that. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Carefully, yet awkwardly, Amarylis brought the shield and spear close to her body. She licked her lips in vain. It was pointless. Her mouth was a desert. Trying to find her voice, she opened it only to close it again. Finally, mustering up what little courage she had, she spoke in a mere whisper.

"My name is Amarylis Maylin. I'm sorry for your loss. I... I'm not sure if I'll do justice to these weapons, but..." Amarylis' voice trailed as she looked into Arzale's eyes. She could see his grief and sorrow. His pain. "I will try..." She had no idea why she'd said such words. She was terrified, wanted to go home. But her fate belonged to him now and the pain she saw residing within those eyes seemed raw and real. Turning her head slightly, she looked down at the floor, her expression one of reluctant acceptance.
 
"They are fine weapons. Hephast forged several steel-sisters, but none as fine as the spear you now hold."

Speaking of weapons, where were his? Arzale looked around, feeling quite naked until the chain-garbed woman made her tentative way over. She offered Arzale his strange bladed gauntlets, which Arzale took with a nod of appreciation. Arzale tied the chains carefully around his waist, layering them in away that prevented the barbs from harming him. The blades sat close to his hips, hanging at a measured angle that ensured he would not be hurt by them while he walked. No similar blades had ever been forged by a Sunderfang smith, they'd been designed to suit Arzale's strange fighting style. From birth it was believed that Arzale was born with the heart of a beast, preferring his own two hands above any weapon offered. For years Arzale trained unarmed against his peers, fighting with fists bound in studded leather and chain to keep him from sustaining serious hurts. Then, in a dream the idea came to Hephast and the blades were forged. Arzale now wore them like a second skin, and learned to move easily with the outlandish weapons with no need for sheath or holster.

Weapons were of great value to the Sunderfang. Each weapon was forged with a blood-toll from the warrior they were being forged for. Arzale's eyes lingered on Larethia's spear for a moment, thinking of the blood that had been forged into the weapon. When the ship made port Amarylis would begin her training, and Arzale was sure her Harrowing would be unusually rough. Though the Harrowing was only the start of Amarylis' troubles. She was not being taken as some uncultured pleasure-slave or labor stock, she was expected to become a Shield-Maiden. Shield-Maidens held equal footing to Warriors in terms of respect and revere amongst the Sunderfangs, it was considered impossible to have one without the other. This meant Amarylis would need to learn how to hold herself with a warrior's countenance, how to respond honorably to sleights and stand her ground regardless of situation. In short, the girl needed a spine! Once she had a spine she could be sculpted into a Shield-Maiden. Once that was done Hephast would break down Larethia's shield and spear and repurpose them into a form that better suited Amarylis' talents, whatever they may come to be.

A chill gust of wind buffeted the ship, it's frigid touch confirming that they were drawing closer to the Northern Wastes. Arzale took some solace in that chill, found the way it cut to the very bone quite bracing. Then again he'd been born on the tundra and had spent his youth on the Steppes, learning to climb, track, hunt and wage war. Did Amarylis know of the Great Wilds or the Golden Halls? Probably not, those born in the Lands of Plenty were not but naive babes who'd long forgotten the true struggle of life. The Sunderfang tribe lived off of land that would not be cultivated or tamed, a land that claimed all but the strongest lives. Amarylis had so much to learn and so little time to do it...Arzale decided he should start her lessons now. While teaching Amaralyis the arts of war was Malya's responsibility, Arzale could at least prep her mind for the task.
"What is courage?" Arzale asked, looking down to Amarylis expecting a quick and firm answer.
 
The way this man spoke of weapons, the way in which he gazed upon them, touched them. It was as if he'd bonded with them in some fashion she could only hope to understand. It was all so foreign and strange, such customs and traditions that were so different from the softer ways of her life back in Merrowdowns.

Amaryls' mind drifted in that moment, her thoughts dwelling on those of the forest, the rivers and groves she'd explored over her lifetime. She'd always thought she'd seen much in her youth, but the reality was that she'd truly seen so very little, her world so narrow in all that she'd not just seen, but been witness to. Who knew that a girl who loved fanciful stories, could hum and sing the most romantic of ballads would find herself now standing where she was.

But fate was cruel in her web-weaving, unforgiving as she knotted each thread in the most intricate of patterns. Amarylis just wished she understood it, could see the picture on the loom...

"Courage, sir?" Amarylis asked, almost reciting. She gulped, her blue eyes staring at the weapons she held so awkwardly as her knees wobbled ready to give way. She bit down on her lip and looked up at Arzale, her body feeling the weight of the stares of those still watching. "I... I was taught that courage is being able to face your fears despite all obstacles." She felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment at being watched. "That no matter what, you will do what is needed to persevere."

Amarylis felt silly answering the question, her answer seeming more than simplistic. As she spoke the words, she felt as though she herself had no courage. None. How was it that she, a girl from Merrowdowns, could become a shield-maiden? It was clear that they were held in high regard, were brave, skilled... Where did she fit in all of that? In truth, she felt as though she didn't fit at all.
 
"That is a better definition than I would've expected from one of southern blood. The Sunderfang believe that courage is meeting death with readied blades. There is no more sacred way to die than fighting for the tribe on the battlefield."

Arzale was quite pleased with Amarylis' answer. She at least understood the concept of survival and that was a step in the right direction. Next he would ask Amarylis a more difficult question. Who'd have thought 'barbarians' had philosophical conversations? There were many misconceptions about the Sunderfang tribe, as Amarylis was bound to find out in the days that would follow. She would learn their history, their spirituality, their traditions and laws...And learn of their deep-seated prejudice. A rough road lay ahead for the young maiden.

"Now tell me...What is fear?"

One could not define courage without defining fear, nor could they define fear without speaking of courage. Fear was the single greatest obstacle barring any warrior's path, an ever-present hindrance that fought it's hardest to break one's resolve and wear away their defenses. It had been fear that had paralyzed Amarylis, fear's wicked grasp had bound her firmly into the situation she found herself in. The girl had set out to learn of the world and find herself, hopefully life with the Sunderfangs would prove to be a crucible rather than a curse, the life of a warrior would shape her to be more than she ever could have been wandering and singing at Inns to earn her bread.


Arzale noticed how awkwardly the spear sat in her hand and recognized it as an immediate problem. Did the Southerners not teach their daughters to fight? Were they so delusional to the harsh realities of life that they did not raise their children with at least a basic understanding of combat? Even Sunderfang scribes could hold their own in combat for a period of time. Before a Sunderfang learned to write they started learning the forms, even children's games were nothing less than combat exercises.
 
A sudden heat rose to Amarylis' cheeks. She hadn't expected to be praised for her answer, though honestly it would probably only be her words that rendered her anything that remotely resembled such a thing. It surely wouldn't be her skills with the weapons she held so awkwardly in her hands. As it was, she could feel them constantly slipping from her grip. So as not to drop them nor dishonor them, since she was certain that dropping them would cause everyone to gasp and become infuriated—especially Arzale—she constantly readjusted her tiny hands so that she could hold them better.

Amarylis still didn't like the feel of so many eyes upon her. It was overwhelming, made her feel like some strange creature that could be poked and prodded and ogled. Needless to say, it was unsettling to be so judged. Though she tried her best to imagine those eyes were turned elsewhere, that it was just herself and Arzale. But even that great warrior... he made her the most nervous of all.

Fear. The man wished to know her definition of fear. In some ways, Amarylis found that almost amusing despite the nerves that coursed over and through her slight body as she held the weapons, desperately trying not to drop them. Fear was one thing she knew, especially after this day. She'd faced it head on, saw her own death more or less and now fear seemed to be ever present by her side as she stood there. Yes, it was her companion now, that faithful friend that didn't seem intent on leaving any time soon.

"Fear sir?" Amarylis began, her voice still soft. "Well, I was taught that fear is an emotion evoked when we face the unpleasant. Anything that would cause us pain, apprehension or give us threat can evoke fear, sir."

Amarylis swallowed, her head hanging in shame as her mousy hair fell in front of her face, blocking it from view. Fear. She had a lot of that and probably always would. There was no way she'd ever rid herself fear. She could never be a shield-maiden, She would fail before any amount of training even started. Just then she sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at the weapons she didn't even know how to hold.

This was beyond hopeless. How could this man think she could succeed? All it would bring to her was an early death.
 
"I was looking for something more spiritual. Fear is the cowl that shrouds death's face. Take away the cover and all that remains is the inevitability that every person must meet eventually regardless of their path in life."

Had it really been this long since Arzale had last bandied words with a Southern-blood? Amarylis' definition of fear had left a fair bit to be desired. It was hard not to sigh at the answer she gave, a petty answer given by the meek. Pain? Pain was nothing to be feared...'Unpleasant'? If one was to look at the larger picture every single aspect of life in the Northern Wastes was unpleasant. Were they really this soft of stock? Had those nurtured by the Land of Plenty been robbed of all strength? Arzale could not blame the girl for her words. It was the way of her people that had made her soft, she had been swaddled for far too long. Survival instincts were tenacious though, Arzale doubted they had been completely bred out of her people. Amarylis was still young and malleable, surely the cold would help toughen her up physically and mentally. At least the girl had the courage to speak; it would be simply unbearable if she just sat in terrified silence, stilled by self-pity. They also had time, the spoils of this bountiful raid would certainly bolster the food and other material stores for quite awhile. That and there were other raiding parties waiting at home for their chance at glory. The Sunderfang tribe was one of the largest of the north, numbers now cresting two thousand adult souls. Vis'karr's war-party would be given ample time to rest.

"Why be afraid of a crossroads we must all come to pass?"

The fear of death was such a foreign concept to Arzale. It was absolutely illogical to be afraid of something that was guaranteed. Great warriors had succumbed to sudden blizzards, or been taken by a simple fever during a harsh winter. To be afraid of death in the North was to be afraid of everything. Getting Amarylis to embrace the reality of death was the first and most important step towards starting her training as Shield-Maiden. She would need to fight without reserve, to never retreat if her stand would save the lives of others. Had Amarylis seen the moments leading up to Larethia's death? Had she witnessed the way the two warriors fought as one as a nigh unstoppable force? That was the future that awaited Amarylis if she embraced the Sunderfang way of life. When Amarylis next set foot on southern shores she would hopefully be a changed woman, a Sunderfang Shield-Maiden. Arzale did his best to focus on the lesson at hand, battle philosophy helped keep memories of Larethia at bay.
 
Amarylis' head remained bent, her eyes fixed upon the floor. The weapons still felt so strange and foreign in her hands, as if they never meant to be there in the first place. She wondered what the woman who once held them would think if she could see who her successor was. She'd probably laugh and the very idea. She was nothing like that woman and didn't think it possible that she ever could be. That woman had probably held a sword as a child... she'd, at best, held a stick and most certainly not as one would a sword or any other type of weapon.

As she stared at the floor, she listened to sound of Arzale's breathing. She could hear the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of bitter disappointment—already she was failing and in front of so many. Her cheeks grew warm and she could feel the weapons slipping, her knees shaking. But then came his next question, one alluding to death. For a brief moment, her eyes closed and all she could envision were those moments as she watched his companion die as she touched her forehead while he tried in vain to staunch the blood flow from her wounded body.

When Amarylis opened them, she slowly lifted her head and looked up at Arzale through her hair that had fallen in front of her pale face. "Sir, you misunderstand. It is not death itself I fear," she began. "Rather, I..." her voice trailed a moment and she felt a surge of embarrassment wash over her. She suddenly felt selfish and very aware of all the eyes watching her. "Rather that I haven't experienced much, sir."

Amarylis wanted to run and hide in that moment, to drop the weapons she'd been given and hide somewhere when no one could look at her any longer, where no one could judge her. She felt beyond selfish for stating what she had, but it was the truth. She understood that everyone died in their time, but there was still so much she wanted to see, wanted to do. It was why she'd set out from Merrowdowns as she had—to live life.
 
"Thinking of paths untraveled will only bring ache and sorrow. A warrior learns quickly to look forward to nothing but the rising sun, and to appreciate the simple pleasures of life such as the chill morning air or a good day's hunting."

What was it like to see through Amaralys' eyes? Or the eyes of any who grew up in the land of plenty? Survival of the tribe came first, Sunderfang children were taught that lesson before they could even read. How many deaths had Arzale witnessed in his life? No, how many deaths had he caused in his life? To think of death as anything more than an inevitability would lead a warrior to madness. It was difficult to talk battle philosophy to a person who had never fought before.

There was some merit in Amarylis' shame. At least she understood that her old ways of thinking would do her no good now. That was as promising as a bright, warm dawn filled with the sounds of game. Perhaps he should phrase things differently, make her see things other than her own death in his questions.

"You will see many lands as Shield-Maiden, hear many languages and meet many people. You will speak with most of these people only once. Your spear and shield will be your words. With each conversation you'll find yourself more eloquent and confident."

Arzale then stepped behind Amarylis and took hold of the spear, shifting it in her grip until she held the weapon at it's balance point. Next Arzale slid the shield strap up onto Amarylis' forearm, so that her fingertips stopped just inches from the edge of the heavy bulwark. Hopefully the adjustments to her hold would make it easier to carry the araments...Admittedly oversized as they were. Larethia had been a woman of unusual strength despite her stature and Arzale couldn't think of any of the other maidens that could've brought her weapons to battle.

Lightning crackled across the sky, dark storm clouds rolling in from all directions. Arzale looked towards the heavens and raised a brow at the echoing thunderclaps that boomed from the horizon. It was time to retire to his chambers, Arzale really didn't feel up to getting drenched. Studded leather and chain were not the most comfortable things when dry, when wet they were barely short of complete torment.

Arzale made his way below deck, motioning for Amarylis to follow. Each warrior's chamber was adjoined by an equal sized chamber for his Shield-Maiden. There were many different kinds of bonds between Warrior and Maiden, some simple friendships, others resembled that of dear (Or occasionally true ) siblings, and even other closer relationships. As they ran the whole gamut, each pairing was given their own quarters to ensure an agreeable arrangement could always be found.
 
Amarylis stood motionless, as still as her body would allow as Arzale came behind her and began to show her the proper way to hold the items she awkwardly held in her hands. As they moved and slid into place, she found her head tilting in wonder at how strangely they suddenly felt. It was as if they weren't even there, suddenly becoming a part of her—an extension. She wondered if it would become natural to hold such things in such a manner or if thought and care would always come first before she'd be able to find the perfect way in which to grip weapons.

Swallowing down the lump that formed in her throat, Amarylis turned her head slightly and looked up into those steely eyes of Arzale's. They'd seen much of battle and warfare and no doubt much else—much more than she could comprehend. She gave him a nod and turned to look back at how she held the weapons, trying her best to memorize not just the feel, but where her hands set, her arms. Everything.

When Arzale backed away and the storm began to settle above them all, Amarylis turned to look up at the sky. Indeed, it was becoming dark and the sight of the ominous clouds and the storm it was bringing along with them made her shiver. Without hesitation, she followed Arzale when he beckoned not knowing where she was going only that it would be away from the impending threat of a downpour. Once below deck, she glanced about herself and took in her surroundings. They were simple enough—two rooms adjacent to one another. She wondered which one was to be hers.

Amarylis stepped further inside just then. "Where should I place these?" she then asked Arzale, her voice soft. "Should... should I clean them before putting them away?" She wasn't sure how to care for weapons or any such equipment, but they'd just seen battle, still had the remnants of their last siege upon it. And she wasn't sure if anything specific needed to be done about that or not before storing them away.

As Amarylis looked at Arzale with an expression of uncertainty, she could feel her hair falling into her face. She had the urge to push it away, but to do so would mean dropping something or setting it aside. And that just wasn't an option at the present moment. Lifting her head a bit so that she could peer through the fallen strands, she hoped she hadn't asked anything silly. Just then, there was another rumbling clap of thunder and the sound of rain could be heard pounding, hard, against the decks above.
 
"There should be some rendered soft-tallow in your quarters. Work a small amount if it into the leather of the spear's haft and the shield strap. You'll also find a rack in the quarters for the weapons. Feel free to linger in my quarters until you wish to sleep."


It sounded as if they had moved below deck just in time. The deck above was being pounded ruthlessly by driving rain and heavy gusts of wind were battering and buffeting the ship, making what had previously been something of a quiet voyage much more turbulent. Sudden storms were the norm for the unpredictable northern sea and the sudden change in weather did not disconcert Vallios in the least. In his years of sea-travel he'd seen this vessel weather storms that would shatter other ships and terrify even the hardiest of seafarers. How would Amarylis react to the sudden change though? Would she find the now violent heaving and bobbing of stormy seas nauseating like most first-time voyagers did? Vallios hoped not, he really did not feel like having to deal with cleaning up vomit for several hours.


The first room belonged to Arzale and was sparsely furnished, nothing more than a bed set with heavy fur blankets, a rack for his weapons and that was really about it. Arzale racked his bladed gauntlets, removed his armor then settled down on his bed. Beneath the armor he wore a simple leather tunic and hide leggings, both with fur backings. After a moment or two he leaned over and began searching around beneath the bed, resurfacing only when he'd retrieved a mandolin. The fruits of a past raid, Arzale had been intrigued by the instrument when he found it and spent many of his nights on ship learning to play the instrument. After all, there wasn't much to do on ship and a warrior couldn't spend every waking moment practicing the forms! Fingers worked the strings with practiced ease and surprising skill, a soft lilting tune filling the joined chambers. Stringed instruments were rare and highly prized among the Sunderfangs, music was one of the few "soft" things the tribe held any form of appreciation for. It was something that the elderly, the young, even the maimed could lend aid to and something that kept the mind off any troubles that could not be dealt with.

Hopefully Amarylis knew how to properly treat leather. However it would not be hard to teach her if she did not, and such a lesson was quite important. If Arzale had access to a grinding stone he'd be sharpening his gauntlets, but such things were on the other ships. Eleven more nights they would spend at sea before finally docking at Vaern, the massive Sunderfang keep built centuries ago. Vaern dominated the Shardscatter Gulf, holding dominion over the only usable port on the northern continent. Thirty years had been spent crafting the looming structure, and it had stood for over three hundred years as the Sunderfang seat of power and dominion. The keep housed the majority of the Sunderfang tribe, held their forges and mess halls, their larders and personal chambers. Vaern's sprawling expanse was truly a sight to behold, and few Southern-bloods knew that such a structure existed. Most simply assumed the Sunderfangs were a roaming tribe of savages that somehow managed to slap warships together willy-nilly.
 
Amarylis found the tallow upon entering her quarters and immediately set to working it in to the leather portion of the weapons that were suddenly bestowed upon her. She wasn't entirely sure if she was doing things correctly, but she figured over time she'd learn how to do things better, more efficiently and in ways that just felt more comfortable. Right now, she knew things would just seem awkward.

Suddenly, the ship began to rock heavily. Amarylis closed her eyes for a moment as she felt her tummy lurch. No. No, she would not let the sea get to her. She would overcome this somehow. As it was, everyone on board clearly saw her as a potential burden. Even she saw herself as one, questioning the choice of Arzale to keep her as the one person to train and become something she had fears to become, felt she could never be.

Or was that just what it was... fear?

Honestly, Amarylis didn't know. All of these things were so very foreign to her and everything was happening so quickly. She hadn't been given time to think or adjust. One moment she'd been watching the sunrise, the next she'd watched a woman covered in her own blood die. Now she was aboard a vessel cleaning weapons that were to be her own. Truly, this was the stuff of bardsong.

Amarylis had to giggle at the irony. She'd always been drawn to music and epic stories of love and adventure. Her parents had often told her that she dreamed too much, had no sense of what life was like and it was why she'd set off to see things for herself. It had struck her funny that her parents were not happy about her leaving. But now she understood why. She had been so naïve, so unaware of the world and the things it held and now she might never see her family again.

Yes, her life was forever changed.

Suddenly, Amarylis' ears perked up. Was that... music? She'd finished with the weapons and carefully put them away. It was a bit difficult walking as the ship swayed with the angry sea. The storm outside must be rough, she was sure of it. But she wouldn't let that deter her from enjoying the lilting sounds of those strings as she heard them being plucked and strummed. They were soothing, reminded her of home almost even if the tunes were unfamiliar.

Once Amarylis stored the weapons away, she walked to where her room adjoined with Arzale's and peeked inside. She could see him playing something—a mandolin. Yes, she recognized it instantly and couldn't help but smile. She never would've expected the man to know how to play such a thing nor to play it as well as he did. It was a surprise to be sure, a welcome one. A smile began to play on her lips and slowly, almost hesitantly, she entered his room.

"I didn't know you could play the mandolin," Amarylis said softly. Her hands clasped in front of her and she dared to take a few more steps inside Arzale's room. She could still feel the rocking of the ship, but the music helped. It helped with more than anyone could possibly know. "We have those back in Merrowdowns, where I'm from," she added, still smiling. "You play beautifully."
 
"Music is something we Sunderfangs prize. Battle-drums to bolster our warrior's spirits and shake our foes, hymns of war to steel ourselves during sieges, and of course songs for other occasions. Music is something that the smiths, cooks, hunters, weavers and warriors can all contribute to, it's something to keep us united. "

Arzale continued to play without thinking, fingers working the strings almost of their own accord. The tone was now something a bit slower and somber, most certainly meant to accompany a dirge. The song was called 'The Doors Swing Wide', a song for wakes and mourning. It took Arzale a moment to notice what he was playing and the strings quickly changed to something a bit faster and more upbeat, notes meant to welcome in the first rains of spring. The ship continued to toss and shudder against the storm, pressing on through a gale that would shake even the sturdiest of crews. It was fortunate that Amarylis was finding solace in the music, the storm would only get worse. Merrowdowns? That wasn't a place Arzale was familiar with. Though this was admittedly because the Sunderfangs rarely pressed inland, preferring to keep their raids swift and sudden. Even now Sunderfang scouting vessels were roaming along the southern coasts, sizing up ports and looking for the next viable target. Raiding season ended in late spring as it seemed like guard-vessels and naval patrols stepped up when the weather became fairer. Few captains of southern-blood had the stones to chase Sunderfang vessels into the Northern Seas. The Northern Seas were known for their fickleness and sudden bouts of fury, deep waters that mercilessly swallowed vessels that were not prepared for the voyage.

"I have never heard of Merrowdown before. Tell me of it."

A southerner might see such questions as cruelty. Why would a captor make their captive think even more of their lost homeland? The answer was simple: Vallios did not see himself or his tribe as Amarylis' captors. The woman should be dead like every other member of that small, burned husk that was once a town. However she lent aid to try and save Larethia's life, and so the tribe owed her an honor debt. That honor debt was fulfilled by giving Amarylis a place among the Sunderfang as Shield-Maiden. In the eyes of a Sunderfang Amarylis' old life had ended the moment she chose to aid Larethia. In the past warriors of opposing tribes who fought exceptionally well were often spared and offered a place among the Sunderfangs for their valor in combat. Those that accepted were treated as Sunderfang, but were not forbidden to show the markings of their old clan. To deny them such a dignity would insult their honor and their past, instead those warriors were also branded with Sunderfang markings. 'Adopted' warriors were also held back at Vaern during raids against, or defending versus their old tribe. It would be wrong to ask a warrior fulfilling an honor-debt to fight his blood-kin.
 
For several long moments, Amarylis stood there listening to Arzale play before finally moving a bit closer. As she walked, she found her body needing to shift its weight, her arms moving out to her sides in order to keep balance. A part of her felt silly, but the ship was rocking quite strongly due to the storm. She could still hear the rains pounding against the deck and the thunder rumbling and cracking outside. A shiver ran along her spine... she truly was so far from home.

Finally, Amarylis reached Arzale's bed, letting her hand reach out to touch the edge. She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes as she listened to the music, her soul filled with ease as the melodies washed over her. Music had always spoken to her, had always been one thing that drew her in. She could remember how her mother had sung to her as a child—lullabies and other folk tunes, all such cherished memories now that she was sailing away from all that she knew and loved. She could remember those blustery winter nights when her father would play his fiddle and oh... the dancing. She loved that just as much as she did the music.

"Merrowdowns?" Amarylis asked, her question more rhetorical. Slowly, she opened her eyes as the word rolled off her tongue. She blinked her blue eyes several times as she thought more about her home.

Home. It seemed so far away, a distant dreamland that she'd never see again. She wondered what her father and mother were doing... probably fretting about her departure. After all, she'd only been gone now for a couple of weeks, not nearly long enough for them to have gotten used to her absence. She knew them well and could easily recall just how bothered they'd been when she'd told them her great plans to see the world and experience all it had to offer. Her father had been so furious, had insisted, at first she not go at all. But her mother could tell she'd been determined, knew that to forbid would mean to lose forever. They'd then begged she take a guide, a friend, a guard. But she wouldn't hear of it.

Oh how naïve she'd been not to listen...

Then again, she was still alive. And she wasn't being treated poorly by the raiders. Truly she knew so little about life, about the world and its people.

"It's a beautiful place," Amarylis stated plainly, her expression going thoughtful as her eyes began to glaze over. She could feel them prickling a bit so she turned her head slightly and looked at her lap. "It's nestled beyond the Forest of Shadow and the town of Falk, tucked away near a river." She smiled a bit. "It's own little paradise, you could say. Right about now they are probably getting ready for the Summer Festival, the last festival before the Great Harvest."

Amarylis could envision the town bustling about to get things prepared for the festival and in some ways it made her feel better. Perhaps it gave her parents something to do other than worry and fret, not that they knew where she was or where she was going. Not that they ever would.

Just then Amarylis felt a hot tear roll down a cheek. She let out a soft sigh and brushed it away. "The festival is always wonderful. So much music and dancing. The entire town gets involved, decorating the square with wreaths of flowers made by the women." She giggled then at memories of festivals past. "It always becomes a sea of pinks and purples. Never yellows. Why the yellow flowers get forgotten, I will never understand it. Perhaps we just have a penchant for pink and purple." She giggled a bit more, but suddenly went quiet. For some reason, she felt like she was rambling, saying things that were boring and mundane, not the sort of thing a warrior would care to hear or know.
 
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