Learning to Dance

[Misty]

Setting a pink trap thrills me. But when someone asks for it, and another joins in the joke, the joy goes beyond thrilling. I feel touched with divine grace. I cannot blame the mead this time, for I had very little of it. But there is something pure in the joy of playing a joke with others.

And if the wrong person steps on the target, I get to try again. Another trap, another chance.




Smoke Pinkbottom* had looked to me and said, “Hopefully I don’t run into any pink dye.” So he heard me talking to my friend before. And understands Elvish. And wants everyone to know he eavesdrops on them. How rude. However, the trap was not for him. But you remember what I said about plans, right? See his new name?

Ealendur scouted the area first, dashing there and back invisible. Empty. We snuck into the graveyard together, crouched over, picking our steps carefully, trying very hard not to laugh. Ealendur pretends he is so stuffy, but he is still very much a Quessir! We breathed prayers to the Seldarine as he watched me set it outside the crypt door. Wherever the target went, he would return to this door.

Ealendur and I went back towards the inn, but stayed outside. Sehanine shone so beautifully we could not bear to go indoors just yet. Pinkbottom stepped on a dry twig to announce himself.

“You been settin’ foot spikers, lass.” His unamused voice came to us.

“Your eyes are getting old,” I snapped. “No spikes in that one.” Humans age so fast, this one already seemed to have grey in his hair.

“T’is odd. Tha paladin seems gone. An tha door? The one he prays to? A rockfall has closed the way. The ceiling has fallen in.”

“And?” I asked. Where was the paladin? Does that mean the door cannot be opened in, or out? Did you step on my trap meant for another?

“And what did you do with this... "foot spiker"?” bless Ealendur for asking the important question.

“I jumped out o tha way o course.”

“You set it off?” Ealendur’s brows drew together.

“I came from inside. Tha door triggered it when I opened it. Very clever,” his voice went flat as he addressed me. Ealendur sighed his disappointment. So where was the rockfall and the paladin?

“I thought so. As there were no spikes, I don't see the problem,” I gave him my most winning smile and looked to the hem of his robes. They were their normal color. He turned to look at the graveyard when I saw it. Ohhh Chameleon help me, I laughed. I tried to keep it in, but could not. Vibrant pink glistened in the moonlight, all over his backside. He turned to look at me, then twisted to see his back.

Ealendur could not hide his disappointment. “It is not the same,” he sighed to me.

I thought it riotously funny.

“I know ye ain’t laughin’ a me,” Pinkbottom grumped.

“I’m not?” I asked between giggles. He knew what I was up to. Should have been more careful. But look at that pink bottom!

“We'll jes’ see about tha laughin’ wont we,” he grumped.

“You don't make jokes?” I challenged.

“No, I like jokes,” he gave a crooked grin. “I like ta make em, too.” Lovely.

“Then you know how to take one. Very healthy of you.” I’m in trouble.

“Aye,” he agreed with a smarmy grin. “T’is important a be able ta take a joke. We should all remember tha in the comin’ days.” Pinkbottom left, claiming he was all joked out.

“Now I'm in trouble,” I said after another fresh fit of giggles. I might need your help, Chameleon, for Pinkbottom’s Revenge.

















*Names changes to protect the pink. Again. HA!

**names returned to their original. mostly.

[Twiggy]

[Misty]

Buried you are, buried you remain,
'Neath deathshrouds of doubt

Beating for one who cares not,
Yearning for one who wants not,
Unable to recover,
To release the claim
You continue to bleed,
'Neath deathshrouds of doubt

[Aelred]

A bard's inspiration will often come from the beauty he sees in the world -
a purple hued sunset with flecks of crimson and rose,
a silvery whistling of wind through willow boughs,
a single white seashell on black sand beach,
or a lovely elven maiden whose eyes reveal an unspoken sadness.
She finds her only solace in the dance.

While in the temple library I happened upon a book of elvish poetry. On the inside cover was penned in a flowing hand the following poem......

wanwa lle nae ar' wanwa lle naa
waite e'ruwacollor

lamien - ten'o'ya n'malia
irmien - ten'o'ya n'merma
n'anama entuiya
ri'faina yaravesta
i'agar n'tyela
waite e'ruwacollor

With my elvish/common dictionary in hand I did my best attempt at a translation. As I am a new student of elvish language, I ask in advance that anyone who reads this pardons any possible errors......

Lost you were and lost you are,
a'wrapped in cloaks of doubt.

Beating for one who does not care.
Yearning for one who does not want.
Unable to recover
or release the ancient promise.
The bleeding does not end,
a'wrapped in cloaks of doubt.


Aelred - traveling minstrel of Lathander

[Misty]

I prefer a clean death. Pierce the mind, heart or soul, death follows within the minute. But you know what they say: you cannot always get what you want. And this is one of those things I want yet cannot have. I saw the truth. It should have been the end, but still my heart bleeds. A long, slow bleed that will finally end when it is empty. Life will be very different without a heart. We will see.

A friend of his arrived, afflicted with memory loss. No, I will not tell you who they are. If you guess correctly, I will lie and tell you that you are wrong. Anyway, some think it is hard to tell the character of a person when they are so afflicted, but I think it is easier. Forgetting what they can do, they have only their heart to go by. She was kind. Sharp of mind. I like her very much, then and now. She asked his aid, and of course he granted it. When leaving to get help, I asked if I should leave them to their task. It really had nothing to do with me. But he said no.

So we go to this place. No, I will not tell you where. She began to have doubts, but proceeded anyway. It was better to know who she was, than not to know. We met with a priest. The more they talked, the more I wanted to just disappear. I had no place there. I had an offering, from long before, but it seemed the wrong time to give it. I had no lessons, either, or so I had thought. I watched my friend, as he watched the priest. Curious, I suppose. I wanted to know something, anything. So many questions no one preoccupied my thoughts. He caught my eye, and I did not expect his answer. He ever so slightly shook his head in the negative. I do not know what he saw in me, or what he thought I was asking, but whatever it was, the answer was no. Ouch. If I moved, they would notice. I studied my toes instead, praying I could disappear. Just fade away from their notice.

He asked her questions after the second prayer. He touched her hand. Sehanine, Erevan, I care not who just someone make me disappear!

After the third prayer, they gently bickered over who would pay the priest. I looked to my hand, fist tight around my meager offering. It was worthless in comparison. They talked about what she could remember of her past. The priest gave me a grim smile, but I could not understand why. Perhaps laughing at me. Knowing I wanted to fade and could not. And he could help me, but would not. Maybe my imagination was getting the better of me.

She remembered the city, and told my friend they had to return. Then I felt the blade slide clean through my heart.

“Do you .. remember ... me? Us ..” he asked her.

“I do,” she answered. He reached for her hand, tapping a ring on her third finger. He pulled her in a warm embrace.

Can I disappear NOW?!?

That was the last I saw of him, unless you count the nightmares. I said goodbye, a few nights ago. But it did not take.

[Misty]

Has it passed?

No.

The bridge is burning.

I know.

Will you not cross it?

Why bother?

Why stay?

No reason to run.

Nowhere to go, you mean.

Nae, I must stay.

Why?

The thief. My kitten. I have friends yet.

You still hope.

It will die.

You are certain?

Yes.

No.

Sehanine help me.

Help yourself first, Long Ears.

[Misty]

So, there we were, walking back to Dagger Falls after a bit of shopping in Tethyamarside. Renunzio did not know about the music shop, and I wanted another dress. Yes, another. A nice black number with slim skirt. Renunzio was trying to find something skimpy for me, for some reason. I’m not sure. Maybe he wants me to be a back-up singer for his acts. I do not like to sing for others. I can, but I don’t. Oh, and Renunzio found a little lute.

Anyway, we walked back to town, Renunzio asking if I could get Isendir to wear a ballgown with elbow gloves when a deer stepped into a hunter’s spikey trap. It was a bit close to the road. Bandits? Hunters? Someone who really hates deer? We looked, a second trap lay near the first. So I took it apart because it was too close to the road.

“Laurelin,” Renunzio starts. Not his silly banter voice but the warning voice. “If this was set by bandits, don't you think they would be watching? And perhaps a bit irate now?”

He had a point, but how were we to know? There was that whole mess with Delawyn and the inquest. And I thought the girl was guilty, but you would expect that of me. I mean, Delawyn is a priest of our People. Yes, I am biased. Anyway, I looked up the hill and saw someone. Just one person, watching us. Scout? Or hunter?

“Yep,” Renunzio also saw the person on the hill. “Irate. I'd run. Shall we?”

“Run,” I told him. He just bought that lute, no need for it to get ruined. And he is noisier than I. I started creeping up the hill. If it is a camp, I could tell Mestin and get a real group. Maybe get to the real camp of bandits and bust them up and save the Dale! Yeah, I didn’t think so either.

So I snuck around, trying to move like Isendir does in the grasses. Only this one person on the hill. Damn, no scout camp. Or any camp. So I go round to the deer. He put the deer over his shoulder. Wow. He took it to a hollow and set it up to bleed and all that other huntery stuff. So maybe he was just a hunter. If so, he was in danger of someone else just killing him without questions. I stepped on a little branch to make some noise, not real close, but close enough to talk. “Careful, sir,” I said.

“Allas' am,” he answered. Huh? Oh, right. ‘always am’ he meant. Some people need to learn how to talk.

“Folks round here scared of bandits,” I continued with the friendly warning. “Bit on the 'kill first' side of things.” I am not sure, but I think he was annoyed. Fine. Better annoyed than dead, I thought.

“Heard some elf holed a girl through lately.” Definitely annoyed, maybe angry. Oh dear.

“Aye, he did,” I held my hands up so he would see I meant nothing bad. I am a sneak, sure, not an assassin. “And paid for the crime, too.”

“Annya weren't worth a copper in life,” he scoffed. “She'd be as surprised 's the next fer the eric that elf hadda pay.” He put his bow down and grabbed his knife. Maybe he was going to carve the deer now? “I'm more-a the blood fer blood school.”

“You knew her, then?” I know my voice shook a bit. I could not help it. I think he meant....

“Yep. Not much inclined t' elfs the more either, n' at didn't help.” His voice went low and gravelly, not at all meek with his next question, “Spare a coin for a forester?”

“Nae.”

“Kinda think yer lyin. One way t' find out!” he ran at me with that knife. I pulled my little one out, but I’m no warrior, remember? He was good at fighting, poked me really hard in my sides. I need better practice. Another time. I ran away down the hill. If I can just get around a corner he won’t have a chance. That ass, I gave him a chance! I mean, if he just kept quiet about that Annya person I could have left and all would be fine!

I found the corner and nocked an arrow. I don’t remember pulling my bow off my shoulder, but I was pretty angry. Thwack! Arrow through the eye! There! I stomped my pointy-toed boot on his throat and cursed. I was still very angry.

Oh right. Those holes I mentioned? They started hurting. A lot. Chameleon was kind, bringing Renunzio back to find me.

“You killed him,” he said. I think the arrow sticking out of his eye gave that away. “Wait a minute. Let me help you with those cuts.” He sang a little something, and I felt a little dumb. I mean, the holes hurt less, but he could have helped me with that fight. He told me so. At least he did not chide me with his bear mask on. That would have been silly.

He also told me we should bring the body to the militia, maybe we can avoid another inquest circus. Sharp bear, that one. I mean hin. Right.

So we dragged the sorry carcass through the river to Dagger Falls, but it got heavy with water. We left it there and went to ‘report’. Renunzio was right. Far far better than leaving the body where it was. Or hiding it. Stupid human. If he had lied, he would have been alive.

[Twiggy]

Anyway, we walked back to town, Renunzio asking if I could get Isendir to wear a ballgown with elbow gloves when a deer stepped into a hunter’s spikey trap.

I would never want to disappoint a DD player.

[Aitana]

Ohh the memories.. good times


Great Read Misty

[Misty]

Shadows Lie.


It is trying to tear us apart.

I did not know we were together, until this started. How can that be, you ask? I will tell you another time, when it becomes a funny anecdote two old elves tell the young about love. Or a lesson on walking with the fallen from one sad elf.

This entity, a ghost, spirit or other fell creature sends terrible dreams when we reverie within our house. A house we have since learned had been unoccupied since Zhentarim rule. Fool outsiders, we bought it for our Dance school with no research.

Outside our home, it still makes itself known. A woman’s voice in my teacher’s mind, male voice in mine. I hold my teacher’s hand, a promise for the future, and this voice sounds in my long ears, Shadows lie. I hold tight to him when I hear it, and he knows without my speaking. It is then my dear teacher touches the Art, casting a small ward over me, making the voice stop. But it does not stop, it changes targets. It sounds in his ears, some malevolent hiss to turn him against me. He looks to me with suspicion, rejecting the payment I owe him.

We must trust each other. Some days, I think it far easier to save Dul Nu’aith.

[Misty]

Tired of waiting, I push to confront the ghost with enchanted blade. I reject a spell for seeing in the dark, I do not need my eyes to fight. I reject the skinstone spell, I held a potion. Impatiently waiting while they finish planning every move.

Mind, I am not always so impatient. I did what research I could, in the library and asking the bards. There comes a time when one must stop stalling for time, and act. I had promised to not return alone, or without my teacher. His frustration with my impatience grows, but I do not care. The ghost held control of the house long enough. One might think the ghost hit a nerve.

I stalk into the house the second the wards settle. First again.

The house shakes. “Enough!” I shout.

“You shouldn't have come back,” the ghost teases. It sounds as if the others were still behind me. I charge into the basement. Salient Point lives up to its reputation, interrupting the ghost’s spells and harming it in some manner, until all that remains is an ectoplasmic knife and amulet. That’s it. For all the strife it caused, it was not very strong.

I am still angry. Angry at the ghost, angry at my teacher who in turn is angry at me. I need mead.

[Misty]

Rules of Pranking.


Yes, there are rules. It has come to my attention that some people do not understand this. Their idea of a prank is to throw a bucket of slop at their target, not caring if others get splashed. This is not a prank. This is a very smelly mess, leaving those undeserving of these attentions with dirtied dresses.


1.) One chooses her target. Yes, this seems obvious, but still, let us cover all the rules. Sometimes, time and place choose your target for you, such as hearing an invisible someone eavesdropping on your conversation. This is an exception. Not everyone is deserving of a prank. The best targets are those who have an inflated sense of self. You know the type: puffed chest, nose in the air, extolling their own virtues when no one has asked. Braggarts are easy to find, and easy to mark. Though not braggarts, the self-absorbed also make good targets, for they do not see beyond the end of their nose. However, choose carefully. Avoid those you know will plan harmful retribution. Pranks are not worth losing one’s life or limbs.


2.) Creativity and Patience. These two go together. Tailor your prank to the individual, and do not be afraid to take your time. Opportunities arise often enough, there is no need to rush and get a sloppy prank. The greater creativity in setting up the prank speaks to the respect one feels for her target.


3.) No innocent victims. Be certain that your prank will not adversely affect those not deserving. This will quickly earn the ire of witnesses who might normally laugh when the prank is pulled. For dangerous endeavors, such as a box of stirges, be absolutely certain there are no children or infirm in the area where it may be opened. Should such enter the area, it is your responsibility to remove the box, even at cost of being discovered in your mischief. With area effect pranks, be sure that those opening said box are all deserving of the surprise. I am glad to say I did pull this on a group, and it went perfectly. Minor wounds received, no one undeserving got hurt, and all the sourpusses were surprised!

One time, I did set a prank for one person, but another triggered it. In this event, I would normally have done everything to set the damage right (it being a pink cloak), but the owner of the pinked cloak suffered from such a fever of self-importance that I must believe the Chameleon chose the different target, not I. One must remember the gods enjoy a good laugh, too. If this happens to you, give proper due to your favored god of chance.


4.) Easy remedy. This is vital. When planning the prank, be prepared to clean up your own mess. If someone or something is damaged, keep it minimal and easy to fix. The prank is for laughter. Even if the target is incapable of laughing at himself, it is not right to cost them dearly in pain or resources. My preference for dye is partly due to the minimal cost of returning said garment to its original colors: all of three gold pieces.


5.) Laugh at yourself. Be prepared for your targets to retaliate. In the spirit of fun, laugh with them. This is a game!






and yes, I pinked another cloak. Ha!

[Brimsar the Wanderer]

hahahahaha! That's funny.

Thanks, the people at my office just looked at me like I was stupid, for laughing for no "apparant" reason.

[psycho_leo]

and yes, I pinked another cloak. Ha!

Most awesome!

[Misty]

Bad Dreams



Anger slows their feet. The bedine taunted, gloated about raping women, and the women with us wanted blood. But Renunzio was right: it was a ploy to make us attack. Then they could kill us with impunity, claim they were wronged by us crazy wetlanders.

The last of the sun disappears, the winds howl. Darkness falls so quickly. I run. If they are too dense to listen to reason and make their vengeance wait, I can not save them. The giant scorpions do not frighten me. The snakes are friends. The walking lizards are an annoyance. The other bedine mere obstacles to be diplomatically navigated around. But the shadows of this desert scare me.

I collapse against a wall while Renunzio juggles, spitting his frustration. Some go outside, some stay, all are angry. I curse my weak body, I am so tired. I crawl to one of the beds, bow still in my hand, to rest.


You find yourself standing in a dirt street at night. Not unlike in Dagger Falls, but this town is not walled. Westbridge. Aurenthil stands beside you, staring with grim determination ahead. Maeve and Isaniel, elven mages of power flank the pair of you. Lucky, Beleg are there. All Quessir, all facing the north, staring at this creature. Beleg later says it was a Netherese creature, a Shadovar. It is shaped like a man, but made of shadow. It spits derision and malice to Aurenthil, taunting him.

A loud noise and a clattering rouse me. Akbar bellows again how he hates these people he came from. I crawled under the bed, taking a pillow to cover my long ears.

You are angry. Aurenthil is your friend, you trust him. It is not right that he is hounded by this thing. It continues to stand there, goading. Your anger gets the better of you. Throwing a thunderstone at it, you scream ‘GO AWAY!’

It does get quiet, turning its attention to you. It dismissed you before, insignificant girl that you are. But now, now it was annoyed. It spews some tripe to Aurenthil about losing his friends, then its wrist moves.

Just as you think it talks too much, pain bursts in your chest. Something hits you from behind. Staring at the stars you realise you fell. The rest of your body turns numb as the fire in your chest grows. Right between the breasts, how rude. You cannot breathe. The moon draws your eyes. Aurenthil stands over you, tears in his eyes, concentrating too hard on saying something to really see you are dying. The pain recedes some, just enough to draw some air. It hurts anew, a stiffness obstructing your air. Lucky kneels above you, your friend. Champion of Erevan, screaming at you. He eschews you for your friendship with Aurenthil. ‘At least Isendir wouldn’t get you stabbed!’

You tell him to pull the knife out. He does it. You tell him to give it to you, and again he does what you say. He then curses the lot of them, especially Aurenthil for following a god outside the Seelie Court. He leaves. Beleg, with hair a cloudy blue, a gift from his mother, reads a scroll above you, worry etched on his face. The hole in your chest closes. You hold the knife close. Made of obsidian, Shadow Glass, it is covered in your heart’s blood. The mark in your chest does not entirely go away. You guard the knife jealously.


The winds howl outside, only an hour passed. Everyone else sleeps fitfully, suffering bad dreams most like. It will be a long, long night.