raggidman
Prince
Registration Date: 06.01.2006
Posts: 3,317
Location: where my heart is
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Insanity’s soul
By Farlin Cacerin IV
Author’s Note: This is a tale told to me some time ago, when I traveled
to the wilds of Valenwood. A dear Bosmeri friend of mine, he is the
source of a local legend that I again cannot verify, but have published
for you reading pleasure.
Arwil stood upon one of the multitude of thick branches that comprised
the graht-oak tree of Falinesti. The marvelous capital of Valenwood was
a giant tree, or some say a collection of symbiotic great trees, that
migrated with the seasons, going south in the summer and north in the
winter, like a bird. Now, it was nestled in the southern cape near to
Greenheart, and from Arwil’s height he could see the three small isles
sitting off the coast. And he was only half a mile up the tree city.
Falinesti towered over the forests at a mile high, maybe even more, and
Arwil delighted in heading up there for the view alone.
But now, the little Bosmer had other plans, and he gazed intently as a
lantern was snuffed out in the night, the owner going to bed. Grabbing
a nearby vine a few minutes later, Arwil swung down to the home and
fell through the small window made by judicious cultivation of
wood-eating insects. He rolled into the room swiftly and stopped
himself, smiling as the occupant remained asleep.
It was a small home, carved into the trunk of the great tree by animals
and insects. Furniture fashioned from clay and bone decorated the room,
but Arwil focused on but one thing; the bow hanging on the wall. He
crept up and pulled it down, cradling it before slinking back out of
the home through the screen door of naturally growing vines and animal
bone. It clinked softly as he passed, and he grabbed a vine before
swinging away, a satisfied grin on his little face.
Arwil awoke the next morning as the petals of his floral home opened to
the sun, burning into his eyes. The first thing he did was check on his
new bow.
He had every reason to be fascinated by his new loot. Fashioned from
bone, the shaft of the bow was two femurs from a large beast shaved
down to a finger’s width to allow the bone to bend but not break. The
femurs were connected to a humerus, the upper arm bone being covered by
hard leather that wrapped around it and the ends of the femurs,
creating a handle. On the top femur a skull had been slipped on, a
skull of what looked like some kind of wolf or fox, the jawbone gone
and the semicircle eye socket usable as a rest for the arrow. The
bowstring was fashioned from sinew and tied to the ball joints of the
femurs. All of this had been polished to a fine white sheen.
Arwil could feel power within the bow as he took out a bone arrow and
placed the head in the eye socket of the skull, pulling back the
string. He aimed at the clay table of his home and felt satisfaction in
the clunk of the arrow against the clay. Shouldering the bow, he
scurried through the branch network of Falinesti. Now that his mission
was completed, he had to leave the city, move elsewhere for a few
months until the law simmered down and his theft was forgotten. It was
a two day travel to Greenheart, and that was his goal.
~~~~~
Arwil jolted awake as he heard rustling in the wild trees around him,
and he quickly moved his hands to the bone bow on his back, and the
arrows of his quiver. Carefully, confidently, he knocked the arrow and
pulled back the sinew string, his hazel eyes searching for the source
of the disturbance.
A robed man, Bosmeri in figure but shrouded by the dark fabric he wore,
crashed out of the underbrush, swinging a longsword fashioned from a
single animal bone. Arwil cried out in alarm and fired, but the bone
arrow went clean through the figure, as if he was non-existent. The
robed man continued his charge at alarming speed, and Arwil found
himself forced to draw his own ivory shortsword to block the incoming
strike.
Unlike the arrow, the shortsword thudded against his attacker’s blade,
and Arwil grinned. Kneeing the man in the chest, he took advantage of
the man’s stumbling back and retreated into the forest, knocking
another arrow as he held his shortsword between his teeth. As the man
got up from the ground, Arwil fired again.
The arrow did nothing, going clean through his head and seeming to have
no effect on the man. Silently the mysterious attacker charged again,
and Arwil dropped the bow as he went into a crouch, spitting his dagger
into his hand and lunging forward under the coming slash, seeking to
stab his opponent.
But the man was inexplicably gone, and Arwil crashed to the ground,
rolling to his feet to look around in wonder. There was no trace of the
man, not even paths in the underbrush. Arwil frowned, retrieving the
bow and continuing on his way. He couldn’t sleep here, not if someone
had found him.
~~~~~~~
When Arwil finally reached Greenheart, he was a sight to behold. Bags
hung under his eyes and he walked with a nearly undead gait; scratches
and bruises marred his features. He looked like a warrior returning
from war.
And indeed he was. The trip ended up taking three nights instead of
two, and each night he discovered himself attacked by that irksome elf
in robes. Each time his arrows failed to stop the attacks, and finally
after the third night he got wise and uses just his shortsword, and
managed to spill the man’s blood. Even though he tried to eat his kill,
though, the man’s body had disappeared before Arwil could finish
flaying him, and he got only an arm out of the deal.
Arwil entered Greenheart’s local inn, which was fashioned from wood
imported from the Summerset Isles and built by merchants. It wasn’t
like his forest home, but right now, Arwil did not care. He sat himself
down at the bar and ordered a flask of beetle wine, drinking it happily.
And yet, he couldn’t calm down despite the drink. Night had fallen once
again, and now with every turn of a patron’s head and every whisper of
cloth in the air Arwil was turning and grabbing for his ivory
shortsword. People had begun to look at the Bosmer oddly as he drank,
trying to quell his unease. But the stares only made him more jumpy. If
he stayed in the bar any longer he felt he would go insane. So he paid
for a room and rushed upstairs with all haste, crashing down on the
foreign made bed after laying the bone bow he had worked so hard to
steal on the dresser.
He found himself falling asleep easily, as the fatigue of three days
caught up with him. However, his sleep was light, as but a flutter of
robe awoke him, and Arwil squeaked like a frighten mouse to find the
robed man standing over him, his own ivory shortsword pressed on his
throat.
“What do you want with me? Who are you?” Arwil tried to demand, hoping
to buy time to think of an escape. But his words came out in more of a
frightened child’s voice. The robed figure did not respond for a
moment, before gesturing his head towards the bone bow lying on the
table.
“I want your mind. I want your soul.” The robed man finally whispered,
before the shortsword that had reputedly slew him became the slayer of
his slayer.
This post has been edited 7 time(s), it was last edited by FLESH: 21.04.2008 18:46.
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