(RP) Something different....

[Kirthag]

... flew through the blasted lands of Felucca. A streak of redness blitzing through the humid jungle with no clear direction. Most creatures fled as it approached, and those that didn't soon found themselves torn asunder by vicious claws. The lucky ones who sensed the coming were riddled with agonizing pain - for this seeming mystical creature of bloody color is none other than the DarkSinger herself, Lark Kohl the deamoness.

You could mistake her for a member of the Gargoyle race - alas you would be wrong. What zips between deadened trees was once a human girl, lover of music and peace, and dearest friend to a certain celtic paladin. What caused Lark's fall from the Virtues into the spiral of darkness that ended in her current state can only be surmised as such: total belief in a false god, then self loathing after abandonment by that god.

Oh, and a bit of necromantic powers after losing one's head - almost - by the blade of one who calls herself "friend". One who turned out the DarkSinger to the woods after the god departed. One who spoke of love, justice and compassion but didn't LIVE it - thus, making it all a LIE!

The DarkSinger screams out and lunges at the first thing she sees, blindly barreling into a tree, her wings getting stuck in the brambles of the jungle.

Eyes glowing a poisonous vapor of green, she rights herself then leaps once again into the air, headed due north. Soon, the humid jungle turns into frozen forest - a new snow has recently fallen. The chill doesn't bother her though, her hatred and loathing enough to warm her deadened heart. Its actually nice to once again feel the frigidness of winter.

Further and further to the north the daemoness flies. Soon she comes upon a clearing, within which are several forest animals seeming to be in a gathering of sorts. Strange, they don't move with her coming. Only slightly curious, the DarkSinger glances toward the forest critters as she hovers by. Her hellish gaze is caught by the biggest, liquid brown eyes so deep and full of peace. Once again, the red blitz barrels into a tree.

At this, the forest critters turn and notice the heap of red, leathery wings and tattered robe. From their midst, the cow rises (for she was simply laying there it would seem) and strolls over to the strange creature.

The woodland creatures all forgotten, the DarkSinger growls and curses as she straightens herself. She regains her footing and lightly leaping into the air to continue her flight - but her way is blocked by that cow.

"Why are you so angry, Lark Kohl?" the cow speaks with an earthy voice filled with the warmth of the sun and promises of springtime. In that simple question, the DarkSinger hovers instinctively, transfixed as she is by the bovine in front of her.

The cow continues, not waiting for an answer, "You seems to have forgotten your Voice, child. Long it has been since you sang your heart."

Mesmerized, the red daemoness simply hovers there. The words of the cow melting into the hate laden mind beneath a crown of devil-horns.

"I want you to go to a bridge, not far from here. Atop that bridge is a chest. Open it, and you will find something within," the cow instructs before lowering her head to the green grass for a bite.

Compelled and with no way to stop herself, the daemoness does as she is bidden. She locates the chest, opens it, and within finds...

​

A look of horror comes across her face and the daemoness bolts into the forest. Her flight wilder than before, she careens between the trees blindly until one inevitably jumps into her path. To the ground she falls, once again. This time, she simply lies there. Injured, blood pools beneath her broken wing.​

​

Time had lost all meaning so we don't know for sure when, but the cow, somehow, did find the red daemoness and breathed upon it. A breath full of warmth, hope, joy, gladness - it took all the pain away and somehow the creature stood.​

​

​

"If you wish to find yourself child, use the Lute and Sing again," the cow instructs.​

​

Walking slowly back, with the cow not too far behind, the daemoness returns to the bridge. There, picking up the lute, she plucks the strings and a most horrible sound is heard. Shocked, the red one drives her claws into the instrument then yanks the strings with a loud twang. With a growl she throws the lute far into the woods.​

​

Within moments, a headless springs up and shambles toward the daemoness and the cow. With a rising anger fueled by shock and fear, a dark spell gets slung at the monster. Falling to the earth, the daemoness is upon it in an instant, sucking the last of its life away - a whithered husk lands without a sound.​

​

​

"Is this how you wish to exist?" the cow asks. "Sucking the remnants of life from those you slay? So much like the false ones who abandoned you here. Taking all they want, then leaving waste in in their wake. The paladin sought to cure you of the madness you contracted from them. You know that, don't you?"​

​

Calmed by the bovine's words, the daemoness turns toward the other.​

​

"Follow me," it says.​

​

​

After a short trek through the woods, the pair finds the thrown lute in pieces. Sadly, the cow looks to the daemoness, then walks over and once again, breathes upon something that is broken. In the blink of an eye, the lute lies upon the ground, whole again.​

​

​

"Now take this and find the Sparkling Shrine. There, I ask that you play the tune you once did lifetimes ago. I believe the peace you find at that shrine will stir your memory, and help heal the pain you've suffered in all this time."​

​

The red one stares at the magically fixed lute, then at the cow, and again at the lute.​

​

"Do that, or walk away now child. The choice is yours. If you ask me though, the world was a more joyful place with your Voice in it."​

​

The cow meanders off into the woods and is soon lost in the trees of the forest, leaving a female daemon reaching for a magical lute.​

​

[rest coming soon]​

 

[Kirthag]

" Guards! GUARDS! I pay my taxes and for what!?"

All too frequently this phrase is echoed in the woods between the great cities of Britain and Trinsic, particularly where wandering healers tend to congregate. Beneficial monks who glare at one another with distrust for this is the land of Felucca where anyone, even a seemingly peaceful monk, could be a murderous fiend.

And that is exactly what they see among themselves now - a fiend of the most foul kind - A RED! -in the most literal sense of the word.

​

The daemoness watches as yet another "friendly" healer turns and flees her presence. She hovers while the man disappears into the forest she is so aimlessly lost in. She has a sense of things, but not as she had before, and this "sparkling shrine" tugs at memories clouded by hate, blood and torment. All she intended was to ask directions from the monk, instead she is left - again - watching his little ponytail bob in the distance then duck behind some trees. She is alone, again.​

​

She turns in any direction (so long as it is away from all the other scurrying monks) and heads deeper into the woods. She contemplates this most recent adventure, wondering why a cow, of all creatures, could somehow stop her tempest. And what did the cow call her, Lark? It has been so long since she heard that name - so long she had almost forgotten what it was, and what it meant. Lark Kohl, the DarkSinger. Named for her voice would bring the critters from the deepest wood to sit around the village, creating a sort of menagerie of entertainment. She sang to see who came, and they came because she sang. And how many lifetimes ago it was when she felt so awed by the world! Even a lovely, warm dun cow brought the best of peace t-​

​

​

Once again, a tree reaches up to the flying daemoness and snags it from the sky. The red one struggles, yanking at the twisted branches, ripping her robe even more than it was before. Eventually tiring, she just slumps there and sighs deeply. Perhaps it is best that it ends this way, caught in the branches of some dead tree in a dead land loathe to her desires.​

​

Perhaps some dragon will come by and mistake her for a bit of meat-surprise-on-a-stick.​

​

Wait - what? Desires? Where did that come from? She's not had want or craving since she felt the burning touch of the false one who called her daughter. He had spoken of a life eternal and full of power, if all she did was give him her faith. And she did, willingly - fanatically. Her song became his and her only desire to make him happy with her. She didn't understand that prophet, and didn't care much anyway. After all, isn't a prophet just another story teller, as she is? The difference between he and she was people wanted to hear her voice! As did the god, too! It was she that he desired - not that knave of a man! And she had forsaken all other desires but that one.​

​

A - desire - to - be - F-R-E-E! And once again, the daemoness finds herself on the ground in a heap of torn robe, twisted wings and sprawling limbs. She had fallen asleep in the branches of the tree, but her thoughts and the dreams they spawned caused her to thrash much, and the tree finally decided she was not worth keeping. She knows she hears the trees giggling at her expense while she stands, a scowl forming as she brushes the snow, twigs and dead leaves from her robe. Reaching with one hand to steady herself, she leans toward another tree which oddly feels quite flat. She looks up, and sees a sign:​

​

​

"To attain inner peace, thou must start at the beginning of one and end with the first of many."​

​

She tilts her head, musing over this riddle of the sign. And what is a sign like that doing in the middle of the forest, anyway? These and other thoughts meander under the devil-horns while she moves toward a clearing, and lo! The site she's been seeking since her meeting with the dun cow!​

​

​

It may be early morn, but the twilight cannot hide the glittering effects about this place! Amazed, the red one walks around the area, her jaw slack and her wicked eyes wide. A hand rests gently upon a stone pillar which sends electrical tingles through her entire body! What is this place? I - I...​

​

"I know this place!"​

​

Her voice cracks with emotion as the barrier once set up in her mind flies open with memories of a life that seems so foreign to her, yet are all her's - and her's alone...​

​

[concluded later - & I think you all are going to like it!]​

​

 

[Rogal]

love it, ya haven't lost your touch!

 

[Kirthag]

The forest is warm, alive. It is midsummer and with it comes all the labor of the creatures within the forest as they scurry about for food. Hunt, forage, gather, store. There is no rest in the seeming tranquil forest. No rest at all. So the squirrel darts about. The ferret slinks around. The bear lumbers forth. The deer roam wide. However, there is one thing all the creatures in this particular wood pay mind to. One simple treat they hang around and wait for. It is about that time too, when the sun is high and hot. Soon enough, their break will begin.

And it is heralded by the soft plucking of some taught strings. Then a high voice is heard, echoed by the joyful chirrups of the birds. Break time is here! The animals all head in the direction of the song that floats through the branches of the wood. Toward a place holy and peaceful and held in reverence by all living creatures. The Shrine of Spirituality.

​

The girl started coming to this place all but 4 winters past. She would come, and sing, and the animals would gather around the shrine to listen. Her voice, light and breezy, would lift all worry away and so hunter and prey would mingle together for a bit. Especially in the summertime when the heat of midday would make one a bit grumpy, the songs of the girl would ease the surliest of tempers.

Lark, as she knew her name to be, discovered this beautiful place when she enjoyed her twelfth summer. Her mother, a dark woman with a touch of the other-world about her, brought Lark to this place. Together, mother and daughter were picking flowers far from the gypsy caravan, and the sparkles caught the eye of the girl.

"Mama! Look!" chimed Lark as she bounded through the tall grass.

The gypsy woman followed her child, hiking up her skirts and meant to call out for the girl to slow down, but didn't. She stopped, just short of the treeline, as her daughter stood staring at the magical fields around the holy shrine. The gypsies have their own beliefs, not like those of the people of this land, but seeing her daughter there, transfixed by the aura of Spirituality, the mother knew then the path of her daughter is not one of the gypsy.

Lark gazed, mesmerized by the sparkling of the shrine. Her flowers dropped to the ground, all forgotten, as she slowly stepped forward. Her dark eyes widened with awe, watching the shimmer rise and fall, and rise again. She took another step, then another. Then, without reason, she drew in a breath and let out a soft note of sound. Her eyes closed, and her chin lifted, and she rose that note higher. Soon enough, her voice carried around the clearing and the breeze seemed to stop. The girl took a few more steps closer, then suddenly she stood in the center of the dais. She wasn't afraid, she just sang. Swirling around there and singing her soul out in this most beautiful place.

The gypsy woman marveled at what she had witnessed. She fell to her knees, seeing her only child float, effortlessly, through the magickal barrier onto the holy shrine. Then she heard the most wondrous singing. Looking about to see the source, the woman fell prostrate upon realization that it was her own daughter singing like the gods. She was afraid to look at her child, afraid of the future this portends. Afraid for the welfare of the entire gypsy clan.

Time having no meaning, but eventually dusk came to find Lark touching her mothers head in the grass. "Mama? Why are you laying there like that? Did you hear me sing, Mama! And the animals came!"

The Gypsy woman knew all too well what beasts came out of the forest to listen to her girl. She had smelled the bear, wolf and puma. She heard the coyote and snakes. She sensed the critters and creatures - but laid still the entire time. Standing now, she took her daughter's hand. "Come, child. We must get back to the wagon. We have much to do now."

Lark didn't know why, but the next morning everyone else left, except for her and her mama. Together they built a small cottage in the wood, not far from her singing place (as the girl now called the shrine). Her mother went to the city of Trinsic to trade for food, and Lark would spend her days in the forest, learning the wood. Every day the sun shone, Lark made it a point to go to her singing place. During her fifteenth summer, her mother gave her a lute, and taught her to play it. They began to go to the road together, Lark playing her lute while her mother would read palms of the travelers. Lark was told never to sing on these trips, only to play the lute.

~~~

The memory came to her as a dream, or was it a memory? Lark never really thought of her mother, she had more memory of her father, Sa'id ibn Jahm, may he be blessed in his rest. She stood, her devil eyes seeing the serenity of the summer, the tranquility of an innocent time. She moved slowly around the circle of stones that help to serve as anchors to the magickal barrier around the shrine. How similar, yet different, it all is now.

She got to the steps of the shrine and took each with a reverent slowness that could only come from a soul of commitment. She stood, gazing through the magical barrier at the place she sat as a little girl, playing her lute and singing her joy. The memories of her past, flowing under the devil horns reminding her of who she is brought tears to the vapor eyes of her damnation. As she stood there, she viewed her entire life - from her birth, all alone in the world as a pure babe, to her growing up in these woods, her mother's burial and meeting a celtic warrioress, following that celt through her adventures, meeting a strange god, her own fall from the graces of friends, turning against those who love her, becoming lost in a darkness of corruption and pain. All this to this point now, and where she might go from here. The myriad of choices, adventures and roads she might experience. The many friends, loves and enemies she might meet. Her one true voice telling the multitude of tales for the world to hear. She closed her eyes, raised her wings, and with a mighty push downward, hurled her body at the magickal barrier...

​

She felt for a moment the force of the barrier and in her mind, she succumbed to whatever the Shrine judged of her. In that single moment of time, she felt no doubt, no shame, no hate - only the questing of her heart to once again sit in the midst of the Spirit and sing the song of her soul. In that fleeting moment of resistance and judgement, the Shrine accepted her as she is, and let her in.

Standing on the shrine, the final barrier of her memories shattered and the woman forced the daemon to smile. Reaching under the robe, the daemon hands pulled out a lute blessed by the magicks of Nature through a dun cow. Closing her eyes, clawed fingers plucked first one string, then another. Then two at once, and thrice a scattering of plucks. The tune started slow, reverently - then paused.

A deep breath, let out slowly to clear the lungs, then another breath released through a throat that contracted to form sound - a single note - which escaped past the fangs of the daemon into the shimmering air of the shrine.

Lark forced the daemon to sing.

She plucked at the strings again, forming her song.

​

Any passer by of the Shrine of Spirituality would witness a strange sight. A red, winged daemoness playing a shining lute, singing as if her life were dependent upon the song - or would end all existence. Tears streaming down her leathery cheeks, her claws plucking strings in a fervor. The song picked up tempo, seemed to spin music into being, and started to float around the daemon!

What happens next cannot be described in words, nay - no human voice could even be heard! Now all that is audible is the sound of a lute being played masterfully at the shrine. Let us, for a moment, see what transpires...

​

... and as the music fades around the shrine, a naked girl lies next to a lute which slowly loses its magickal glow. Beneath the shrine, sinking into the holy waters is the shriveled remains of what was once some red daemoness.

A wandering healer, a monk, one who comes to pray daily at the shrine, approaches and stares as the shrine itself returns to its normal, gentle, self - although there is a bit of singed earth around each of its circling pillars. Speaking the words, the monk steps to the dais, amazed to see the girl and now normal lute there. He calls to other monks for assistance. Wrapping the girl in a robe, the monks take her to the city of Trinsic for aid.