Post by Starflame on Jul 18, 2006 22:09:41 GMT -5
This is Avakera's story, from her point of view. This is done, but I may add more to it as the RPG progresses. Basically, it's a more detailed version of the prologue.
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Ghosts
Avakera was eighteen, she thought, when It happened.
She was just a spoiled little elf girl, waiting for her First Rite, being trained in the ways of her heritage.
Birthdays are sacred to High Elves. They revere them, treating them with reverence and pride, knowing that for them, they will soon pass into insignificance. They are short, like the lives of lesser beings, and must be treasured.
She received a simple gown of red and a silver necklace for the Rite. They were the first birthday gifts she had ever received, and the only ones she ever would. Birthdays, the High Elves believed, were too important for gifts to be wasted on them, unless the gifts were important. And these certainly were, even though they were nothing special. They did her hair, in three buns held in with gold clasps, and sent her to wait at the clearing in the woods.
Her father came, and her brother and her mother. They stood at the edge of the clearing, and waited while Avakera began the Rite.
Long strings of words came from her mouth, not taught and memorized but inherent in the line of her family. She went on and on and on, and a small corner of her mind wondered if it was working, if Something would happen, while the other part concentrated on the words.
A rift seemed to appear, so slight that no one noticed it, that no one found it and closed it before it was too late. A Being appeared, one from the Dire Realms, that land where none but the lost souls of mortals go. It broke Avakera’s concentration, even though no one except herself could see it or hear it or feel it.
It carried a sword, and with that sword, it struck Avakera down, her normally orderly thoughts turning into a jumble of what is happening why is it here when will this end.
And then her thoughts all seemed to snap into place, and everything was clear.
Why was everyone standing around gaping at her? Idiots. She noticed the sword beside her. She picked it up, it’s heavy weight seeming no more then a feather in her hand. It was of fabulous make, its balance perfect, the hilt and blade inscribed with incredible designs. She picked herself up, noticing dully that she had a rip in the skirt of her dress. Her father came slowly across to her, and she noticed with disgust that he was fearful. Of her. Practically terrified, in fact. She walked over to him, switching the sword to her left hand, and touched his shoulder.
“Do you fear me, Father? Have you a reason?”
In the man’s face a small bloom of relief showed, and he replied slowly, “Are you all right?”
Suddenly Avakera felt anger, anger such as she had never felt before. How dare he treat her like a child? She hefted the sword and tore into his chest with it, all the while one little corner of her mind screaming Do not do this oh gods don’t do this don’t do it- And then it was gone.
Avakera felt a slight twinge of regret, but the only thing her corrupted mind registered was that her brother was running towards her, sword in hand.
She parried, and sliced across his cheek, producing a large cut. He stumbled, and while he did so she hit his head with the hilt of her sword. He was knocked cold.
Avakera ran, defying the one small corner of her mind that resisted, and all that she once knew and loved she left behind. Avakera ran.
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That's basically it. Comments and critiques welcome!
-star
----------------
Ghosts
Avakera was eighteen, she thought, when It happened.
She was just a spoiled little elf girl, waiting for her First Rite, being trained in the ways of her heritage.
Birthdays are sacred to High Elves. They revere them, treating them with reverence and pride, knowing that for them, they will soon pass into insignificance. They are short, like the lives of lesser beings, and must be treasured.
She received a simple gown of red and a silver necklace for the Rite. They were the first birthday gifts she had ever received, and the only ones she ever would. Birthdays, the High Elves believed, were too important for gifts to be wasted on them, unless the gifts were important. And these certainly were, even though they were nothing special. They did her hair, in three buns held in with gold clasps, and sent her to wait at the clearing in the woods.
Her father came, and her brother and her mother. They stood at the edge of the clearing, and waited while Avakera began the Rite.
Long strings of words came from her mouth, not taught and memorized but inherent in the line of her family. She went on and on and on, and a small corner of her mind wondered if it was working, if Something would happen, while the other part concentrated on the words.
A rift seemed to appear, so slight that no one noticed it, that no one found it and closed it before it was too late. A Being appeared, one from the Dire Realms, that land where none but the lost souls of mortals go. It broke Avakera’s concentration, even though no one except herself could see it or hear it or feel it.
It carried a sword, and with that sword, it struck Avakera down, her normally orderly thoughts turning into a jumble of what is happening why is it here when will this end.
And then her thoughts all seemed to snap into place, and everything was clear.
Why was everyone standing around gaping at her? Idiots. She noticed the sword beside her. She picked it up, it’s heavy weight seeming no more then a feather in her hand. It was of fabulous make, its balance perfect, the hilt and blade inscribed with incredible designs. She picked herself up, noticing dully that she had a rip in the skirt of her dress. Her father came slowly across to her, and she noticed with disgust that he was fearful. Of her. Practically terrified, in fact. She walked over to him, switching the sword to her left hand, and touched his shoulder.
“Do you fear me, Father? Have you a reason?”
In the man’s face a small bloom of relief showed, and he replied slowly, “Are you all right?”
Suddenly Avakera felt anger, anger such as she had never felt before. How dare he treat her like a child? She hefted the sword and tore into his chest with it, all the while one little corner of her mind screaming Do not do this oh gods don’t do this don’t do it- And then it was gone.
Avakera felt a slight twinge of regret, but the only thing her corrupted mind registered was that her brother was running towards her, sword in hand.
She parried, and sliced across his cheek, producing a large cut. He stumbled, and while he did so she hit his head with the hilt of her sword. He was knocked cold.
Avakera ran, defying the one small corner of her mind that resisted, and all that she once knew and loved she left behind. Avakera ran.
---------
That's basically it. Comments and critiques welcome!
-star
