A Disturbing Night in the Raven, Mythic...
She woke late, somehow always waking in the evening whenever she stayed within the walls of the Mythic.
Merrique descended the stairs two at a time, the young, petite and wiry half elf woman was clad in a set of faded leathers while a longsword rested on her hip. She ran her fingers through short, boyish black hair then pushed a long white strand from her face as she stood looking about the room.
A young Ayr'dal man was drinking his tea, his head tilted at the rather spooky looking knight that was ordering a bloodwine. Duvessa waved over to the young paladin and greeted her, though she looked quite tired and ill despite her warm sentiments. Merrique stopped short at hearing Scythen's order, eyeing him warily as she made her way towards Duvessa
"Evening, Lady Duvessa," the young knight replied.
The dark knight with the bloodwine nodded to her, quietly saying, "Greetings."
A thin woman looked up at Merrique, remaining quiet as she watched the young girl move through the inn.
The squire still eyed the dark knight warily, almost as if sensing something but not quite sure what. Finally, as she neared Duvessa, the girl asked, "How are you this eve, Lady?"
"Massive... headache, Merrique, and getting worse. I may need to go excuse myself for a little while," the other half elven woman replied, a hand against her temple, as if she were trying to massage away the tension.
Merrique frowned at Duvessa, nodding a little, as she was always bothered by simple things that her skills could not heal, "That's horrible. I'm guessing willow bark isn't helping any?"
The half elven man that had been watching the death knight glanced about for another chair, grabbing a nearby one that he planted near the his seat before flopping back onto the couch. He kicked his feet up onto the chair he moved, slowly relaxing as best he could.
"Not really, no..." Duvessa sighed, "Just need a little rest, I think."
The girl glanced at Kacer, giving a slight double take, her body tensing, before looking back to Duvessa and murmuring, "Ah, understandable..."
The boy reminded her of the man she had faced down in the Thundering Steppes, but she realised his hair was entirely different and looked away, eyes moving to Duvessa as the other woman moved through the tavern.
The half elven boy noticed the chair was a bit too close and scooted the chair with his foot across the floor slightly, until it's distance wass perfect for him. The thin woman's eyes turned from Merrique to him, narrowing with a little annoyance as the chair squeaked across the floor. It was then that Duvessa stood, more than likely the horrid noise a breaking point with her headache, and began to walk towards the private stairs to her rooms.
"I may be back later, I need to get some rest..." she said, her voice fading as she ascended the stairs.
The dark knight nodded to Duvessa after she hugged him, watching her walk up the steps as he quietly called out, "Good night then, Lady Duvessa."
The half elf boy caught the tail end of Merrique's glance and narrowed his eyes slightly, more in curiousity than in malice, but when she turned her
attention to Duvessa's departure, he lost interest in her. He shrugged, lofting his head towards the thin woman who watched him now.
"Help you?" he asked casually, looking at her. She studied him for a moment before turning away without anwering. He merely smirked, making one more squeak across the floor just to purposely irk the woman as he chuckled lightly before he turned away. The woman narrowed her eyes but remained quiet.
The dark knight smiled again as his bottle of bloodwine arrived, uncorking it immediately to pour the dark red liquid into a glass, swirling it slightly before draining it as he walked to a couch. Merrique leaned against the bar, eyeing Scythen warily as she looked about the room, her eyes always returning to him as if morbidly curious. He chuckled as he looked at Merrique.
"Is there something I can help you with M'lady?" he asked quietly.
The girl shrugged slightly at Scythen, her golden eyes studying him as she replied, "I...don't believe so, sir. Something about you...struck me, is all."
"I see. Well, you are welcome to come sit over here with me," the dark man said, making room for her on his couch, "so that you may learn what it is about that struck you."
Merrique took a honey mead from the bartender and nodded slighlty, slowly moving towards the dark man. He smiled darkly to her, his eyes watching her closely as she moved from the bar to his couch.
"Let me introduce myself," he murmured quietly when she reached him, "My name is Scythen R'trev. And you are?"
She extended a hand to Scythen, almost hesitantly as she replied, "I'm Merrique Mai`claire...Paladin of Karana...well, squire really..."
"A pleasure to make your aquantence. And as for what you sensed about me, it is probably due to your being a paladin," Scythen said as they shook hands.
After a moment, he pulled his hand away from her, motioning for her to sit down beside him. Merrique sat down beside him, eyeing the bloodwine as she took a sip of her honey mead, her golden eyes watching him intently.
"You see, I believe it is a usual thing for a paladin to be able to sense undead, is it not?" Scythen asked casually, swirling his glass of bloodwine.
She nodded slowly as she replied, "Yes, it's one of the things we learn almost immediately..."
"Well then, that would explain it. You see, I am not jsut a shadow knight," Scythen explained, pausing ever so slightly, "but a vampire as well."
With that, the man opened his mouth in a wide smile, two sharp fangs visible for anyone nearby to see. Almost reflexively, Merrique reached for her sword, stopping short of grasping the hilt. She leaned back, away from him, staring with morbid curiousity at the sparkling white teeth.
"That is a usual reaction I get from paladins," Scythen said without a trace of fear, relaxing as he watched the young knight. "However, most who get to know me, see me as a surprisingly nice person, yet understand that there is a much more violent me underneath."
For a long moment, she simply stared at him, unsure of what to say for a moment before blurting out, "What's it like?"
Her curiosity was piqued already from Duvessa's tales about a paladin she knew that had become a vampire, yet the woman had still been able to use all of the gifts of Light that a paladin knew. Such an idea intrigued and disgusted Merrique all at once, and now she had the chance to talk to a vampire, to learn a little bit more about them.
"Being a vampire? well," he paused before continuing, "think of it this way. You are a blind and deaf person who's nerve endings send some of the signals, sensing, touching. As a vampire, all senses are strengthed. Yes, I have to drink living blood to survive. However, I do not always have to kill. If the person lets me drink from them, willingly, they can live. Or if I am able to sneak up behind someone and drink from them without their seeing my face. Otherwise, I must kill. If I did not, then I would have vampire hunters constantly trying to make me their next trophy."
The girl frowned slightly as she asked, "What does it feel like for your...um, food?"
"It feels marvelous," a silky voice said, its owner walking slowly through the inn door.
"I do not call them food," Scythen said hautily, "and yes, as Savriel just said, it feels quite nice to them. A small prick of pain at first and then a
feeling of pleasure to those who are fed from."
For a long moment, the young knight puzzled at Scythen, the rest of the inn fading into the background. Finally, she asked quietly, "They feel...pleasure from it?"
"Yes. It is something in the connection that it makes. The feeling of two beings, although quite unlike each other, coming together to make one," Scythen breathed quietly. "Basically in a sense, sex. It gives around the same pleasure."
"Only without the diseases," Savriel purred playfully, winking at the young paladin.
Merrique looked from Savriel to Scythen, blushing as she stammered out, "I...don't know much about that..."
After a moment, the young knight regained her composure by drinking down a great deal of her mead. Once a bit more under control, she asked "But, what side affects do they have?"
"You know I honestly can't say.. I've only fed from others of the," Savriel said as she gestured vaguely at Scythen, "Kin."
"I leave them on the ground. I never drink enough to make them not recover from it. And the side effects would just be a sort of, for lack of better words, drained feeling," Scythen continued, "as though you are rather tired. Other then that, maybe feeling cold, and thirsty."
The vampire's eyes swept over to his kinswoman, making a biting motion before chuckling, "I still need to feed from you sometime, Savriel."
Nodding slowly, the girl said, "So you leave them defenseless..."
"It's like drowning," Savriel said flippantly, her gold eyes on Scythen as she smirked, "only you don't run out of air..."
"You can drink from each other?" Merrique asked, blinking as their words finally registered in her head.
"In a sense, yes. They are defenseless, but most guards go on a route and they get discovered," Scythen answered, "And yes, we can drink from each other. It tastes the same and still gives the pleasure, but it wont sustain our life."
Merrique nodded slightly, her eyes darting between Savriel and Scythen, warily but interested none the less. She again recalled what Duvessa had said about the knightly vampire, of how her powers of a Paladin did not wane, and that she had been a strong woman. For a moment, she wondered if such a state would be a boon against her friend turned Nemesis, but her ingrained senses pushed the thought from her mind quickly. Savriel tilted her head at Merrique before finding a seat at the bar, sitting down with a sigh.
"Scythen's the expert on this stuff, really. I'm... different," she muttered.
"So you really are...dead?" Merrique finally asked.
Scythen chuckled lightly and nodded, replying, "Indeed. If you came close enough, I could show you that I can start or stop my heart at will, but somehow I doubt that will happen."
The male half elf started fidgeting, his feet rocking back and forth on their heels, making slight noises as they knocked lightly against the chair. He
paused at Merrique's question, a small smile dancing across his face.
"We're all dead at some point, just some more than others," the boy said mischeviously. Savriel merely frowned, shrugging a bit before laughing at his comment.
"Well it's true," he said, tossing a glance at Savriel.
"I know a vampire that will never again have a heartbeat, but he is far from cold and stiff," the strange woman said. "I am different for everyone. I'm...not fully dead."
Tearing her eyes from Savriel, Merrique extended her hand towards Scythen, slowly, gently placing it over his heart, still mostly leaning away. Scythen's heart beat against her hand and then suddenly it stopped, not continuing as he looked at her, gauging her reaction. At that moment, Savriel snapped her teeth, clacking them loudly enough for Merrique to hear. The young knight cringed slightly, staring wide eyed at Scythen.
"Yes, savriel is a rare case that I have noticed," Scythen answered, his heart still unmoving in his chest, "There are a few who are born mortal, yet have the thrist for blood just as much as any immortal."
Hand still on Scythen's chest, she glanced at Savriel a moment and muttered, "How strange...," before looking back at Scythen.
The teenage woman laughed softly, her voice like the hissing clink of cold bells against each other.
"And I was born.. mostly mortal," she quipped.
"I however, was not born mortal. My home was another plane of existance, one in which all are born vampiric," Scythen said simply.
Merrique blinked at Scythen, asking, "How did you survive if there were no mortals?"
"Our air was a mixture of oxygen and blood. We recieved our blood in small doses from the air," the vampire paused, grinning, "But, when there was a party of sorts, they would send parties here to Norrath to capture mortals. Ones who were unmissed, unloved. We brought them back with magic over them so they could breath our air and then would use their blood as a delicacy."
Savriel twirled her finger around her head, the universal symbol for "He's nuts", behind Scythen's back, but looked interested as the older vampire spoke quietly to the knight. Merrique blinked at Scythen, as if not sure how to respond. The inn faded again from her attention, her golden eyes slowly looking back to her hand on Scythen's chest. Slowly retracted her hand from Scrythen's chest, becoming aware of what was around her.
"I...see," she whispered.
"Greetings Linian," she heard Scythen say to a robed Teir'dal.
At that same moment, Savriel was wolloped in the head with a pillow that the male half elf had thrown from his couch, crying out, "What the...!"
"Vendui Scythen," the Teir'dal named Linian replied, taking a seat at the bar. "How is everything?"
Merrique looked up at the dark elven man, frowning still from speaking with Scythen. The half elf boy on the couch caught himself from nearly falling off the couch, laughing at the sight of Savriel being hit by his pillow toss. Savriel tucked the pillow behind her head, smiling serenely to Linian and greeting him, just to spite the boy. Merrique glanced back to Scythen, the inn again dropping away as she thought over what the vampire had said and what Duvessa had mentioned in her story. Rising from her seat beside him, downing her honey mead, she began to walk towards the stairs to the guest rooms.
"I...need to go train...g-good eve," she stammered, practically running up the stairs.
"Good eve, Merrique," she heard Scythen call after her.
Panicked, the young girl nearly broke the door to her room as she hastily tried to open the door. Quickly, she stripped out of the leather clothing and put on her light under armour, shaking as she pulled the tight chainmail shirt over her head. With haste, she pulled on the chain pants then slipped into her plate pauldrons, boots and gauntlets. Her long sword was slung low on her left hip, her two handed sword quickly strapped to her back before she slung her sheild across it.
Once dressed, the girl practically ran down the back staircase, bursting out the door and trotting to the stables. The hand on duty quickly fetched her steed, and within minutes, the sound of thundering hooves broke out behind the inn, rushing up the side and across the front before fading off into the night as the young knight rode away from the inn full of vampires.
Inside, Scythen sighed as he sipped his bloodwine, "I think I scared the poor girl."
"Paladins... blegh," Savriel quipped, "She took that well, considering..."
A small ratonga woman perked one of her ears to the sound of Merrique's horse and added, "I guess she doesnt like your parties, Scythen."
Monday, April 6, 2009
Story: Liberi Fatali
The Squire and the Death Knight
[OOC: This scene is set to Liberi Fatali from the opening of Final Fantasy VIII. If you have it, read along with it playing - it is fitting and if this were rendered, it fits in time perfectly.]
The skies above were brushed with hints of white, etheric clouds that stretched like spider webs across the sea of light blue. A wind blew in from the ocean, tinted with the smell of salt and magic, tiny glistening sparkles flowing along the breeze like butterflies.
A small hammock hung between two trees, swaying lightly in the wind, the body of a lithe creamed coffee coloured Ayr'dal wrapped in its gentle embrace. Her hair was short and black, save for two long white strands that drifted down to frame her sleeping face; her muscles were well toned, though they lay flat to give the illusion a frailty to the young woman.
Her eyes snapped open, distant and watching something far away. The glistening droplets of sea water fell around her, a few feathers of a flock of passing hawks drifting downward with them. One feather brushed over her nose before falling down to her lap momentarily, drifing there for only a few moments until the wind lifted it back into the wind and away from her.
Her sword fell from her hand, spiralling backward behind her from the blow, a thin trail of blood glistening through the air. It turned in the air, landing point down into the groud, quivering with the force of impact as it buried deep into the soil. The woman was upon it immediately, pulling it free from the ground with a metallic groan, the long sword immediately swinging before her in a wide arc as she brought it to the ready. Her sheild lay shattered several yards away, leaving her largely unprotected, relying entirely upon the small, light sword.
Some distance away, atop the rocky hills surrounding the valley, two figures stood like ghosts, watching the scene unfold. One kept their eyes upon the girl, features intense with confusion and anger while the larger, more radiant figure kept their eyes upon the girl's opponant. It seemed as if the larger figure was controlling the tied of battle, one long, thin hand extended, fingers curving to almost point as the hand moved in time with the battle.
As the metallic groan sounded through the valley, a huge man clad in black armour rushed towards her, large two handed sword drawn, held in one hand that was extend back in the beginning of an attack. He lifted his face, anger and resolution carved deeply into his features as he charged towards the woman. Their swords crossed, and the smaller woman managed to push him back slightly, and he gave a cocky smirk, beckoning her to attack him with a small motion of one hand.
She brought her long sword up in an arch as she charged forward, their blades again crossing between them, the distinct sound of a metal edge scraping along another metal edge echoing in the valley. He withdrew his blade first, bringing it from the side for another attack, only to find the lighter and faster long sword blocking his motion. She pressed again, this time causing him to kneel slightly. His sword raised horizontally before his face as hers came down quickly in an over-head arch, the metal blades locking against each other momentarily before he was able to push her backward.
Back on the ridge, the figure watching the dark knight grinned wickedly, her features echoing his as he pressed forward.
The smaller knight jumped back, sword lifting to a defensive position as he began to press, bringing the two-handed edge forward again and again, each time being met by her smaller blade as she blocked his attacks. Finally, the man swung too wide, giving the girl the opprotunity to attack. Her blade moved in a sharp arch before her, his blade grazing hers as he leaned back out of the way, a second strike from the woman following that he blocked with ease; she continued her press, and again he blocked, this time her blade sliding downwards off his, leaving her side slightly exposed.
As she brought the long sword back up, the dark knight grinne wickedly, his hand lifting forward between them. The movement caused her to hesitate, unsure of why the man was leaving himself so exposed until she saw the crackling energy surrounding his fingers, the black and red fires of pure Hate and Fear wrapping about his extended hand. Before she could react, the harmful touch leaped outward, catching her entire body in its painful flames, her muscles twitching beneath the assault of emotion.
She stumbled backward, stunned, barely regaining her balance as the dark knight charged toward her. His blade flashed once as it cut her across the cheek, blood spilling down her neck to be lost amid the blood from the rest of her wounds. Her left hand began to lift the long sword in a low arch, tip scraping along the valley floor as she raised it to defend herself. The dark knight's blade assaulted her several more times, each time barely deflected by the smaller sword, the girl's energy clearly waning.
The wicked figure on the ridge stabbed her finger foward as the smaller figure looked to the first in confusion. At the same time, the dark knight drove his two-handed blade forward into the smaller knight's side, the blade burying deep into chainmail and flesh. He looked down at the small knight, the evil marking his features slowly fading into confusion and concern.
Blood poured from her side, and the small knight looked down, her small hand slowly reaching to touch the blood as she fell to her knees before him. She looked up one last time, her features marked by surprise and sorrow, fading golden eyes staring up into the dark knight's pale, almost colourless eyes. His were filled with shock and confusion, realisation at what he had done.
"Andrew?" she whispered as she slide sideways off of the blade, falling to the ground as the world around her turned black.
Slowly, the girl looked about her, golden eyes coming into focus before she fell back into the hammock, exhausted.
[OOC: This scene is set to Liberi Fatali from the opening of Final Fantasy VIII. If you have it, read along with it playing - it is fitting and if this were rendered, it fits in time perfectly.]
The skies above were brushed with hints of white, etheric clouds that stretched like spider webs across the sea of light blue. A wind blew in from the ocean, tinted with the smell of salt and magic, tiny glistening sparkles flowing along the breeze like butterflies.
A small hammock hung between two trees, swaying lightly in the wind, the body of a lithe creamed coffee coloured Ayr'dal wrapped in its gentle embrace. Her hair was short and black, save for two long white strands that drifted down to frame her sleeping face; her muscles were well toned, though they lay flat to give the illusion a frailty to the young woman.
Her eyes snapped open, distant and watching something far away. The glistening droplets of sea water fell around her, a few feathers of a flock of passing hawks drifting downward with them. One feather brushed over her nose before falling down to her lap momentarily, drifing there for only a few moments until the wind lifted it back into the wind and away from her.
Her sword fell from her hand, spiralling backward behind her from the blow, a thin trail of blood glistening through the air. It turned in the air, landing point down into the groud, quivering with the force of impact as it buried deep into the soil. The woman was upon it immediately, pulling it free from the ground with a metallic groan, the long sword immediately swinging before her in a wide arc as she brought it to the ready. Her sheild lay shattered several yards away, leaving her largely unprotected, relying entirely upon the small, light sword.
Some distance away, atop the rocky hills surrounding the valley, two figures stood like ghosts, watching the scene unfold. One kept their eyes upon the girl, features intense with confusion and anger while the larger, more radiant figure kept their eyes upon the girl's opponant. It seemed as if the larger figure was controlling the tied of battle, one long, thin hand extended, fingers curving to almost point as the hand moved in time with the battle.
As the metallic groan sounded through the valley, a huge man clad in black armour rushed towards her, large two handed sword drawn, held in one hand that was extend back in the beginning of an attack. He lifted his face, anger and resolution carved deeply into his features as he charged towards the woman. Their swords crossed, and the smaller woman managed to push him back slightly, and he gave a cocky smirk, beckoning her to attack him with a small motion of one hand.
She brought her long sword up in an arch as she charged forward, their blades again crossing between them, the distinct sound of a metal edge scraping along another metal edge echoing in the valley. He withdrew his blade first, bringing it from the side for another attack, only to find the lighter and faster long sword blocking his motion. She pressed again, this time causing him to kneel slightly. His sword raised horizontally before his face as hers came down quickly in an over-head arch, the metal blades locking against each other momentarily before he was able to push her backward.
Back on the ridge, the figure watching the dark knight grinned wickedly, her features echoing his as he pressed forward.
The smaller knight jumped back, sword lifting to a defensive position as he began to press, bringing the two-handed edge forward again and again, each time being met by her smaller blade as she blocked his attacks. Finally, the man swung too wide, giving the girl the opprotunity to attack. Her blade moved in a sharp arch before her, his blade grazing hers as he leaned back out of the way, a second strike from the woman following that he blocked with ease; she continued her press, and again he blocked, this time her blade sliding downwards off his, leaving her side slightly exposed.
As she brought the long sword back up, the dark knight grinne wickedly, his hand lifting forward between them. The movement caused her to hesitate, unsure of why the man was leaving himself so exposed until she saw the crackling energy surrounding his fingers, the black and red fires of pure Hate and Fear wrapping about his extended hand. Before she could react, the harmful touch leaped outward, catching her entire body in its painful flames, her muscles twitching beneath the assault of emotion.
She stumbled backward, stunned, barely regaining her balance as the dark knight charged toward her. His blade flashed once as it cut her across the cheek, blood spilling down her neck to be lost amid the blood from the rest of her wounds. Her left hand began to lift the long sword in a low arch, tip scraping along the valley floor as she raised it to defend herself. The dark knight's blade assaulted her several more times, each time barely deflected by the smaller sword, the girl's energy clearly waning.
The wicked figure on the ridge stabbed her finger foward as the smaller figure looked to the first in confusion. At the same time, the dark knight drove his two-handed blade forward into the smaller knight's side, the blade burying deep into chainmail and flesh. He looked down at the small knight, the evil marking his features slowly fading into confusion and concern.
Blood poured from her side, and the small knight looked down, her small hand slowly reaching to touch the blood as she fell to her knees before him. She looked up one last time, her features marked by surprise and sorrow, fading golden eyes staring up into the dark knight's pale, almost colourless eyes. His were filled with shock and confusion, realisation at what he had done.
"Andrew?" she whispered as she slide sideways off of the blade, falling to the ground as the world around her turned black.
Slowly, the girl looked about her, golden eyes coming into focus before she fell back into the hammock, exhausted.
Story: The Mirror of Their Dreams - What a Squire Saw
She had been gone quite a bit from the Raven, her studies in the combative arts keeping her tied up in Antonica and Stormhold for quite some time.
When she had finally made her way back to her room at the Raven, Merrique quickly put her larger weapons away, keeping a simple short sword on her left hip after the events that had been occurring recently; she did not wish to be caught off guard and without a weapon should whatever was threatening the woman Laenne return.
There was a buzz about the entire establishment, speaking of a strange mirror that Duvessa had somehow acquired - the stories there varied from it being a gift from the Foci herself to more realistic rumors that she bought it from someone who just didn't know what they had. Either way, the abilities of the mirror had her curious, and like any Ayr`Dal, she had to take care of the burning obsession before it drove her crazy.
Despite only being fourteen years of age, the aspiring knight believed she knew herself very well, and so unlike many who spoke of their feelings with this mirror, she was not afraid of what might be reflected.
The tavern was more crowded than it had been when she arrived, and with her typical confident stride, the chain-clad girl walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, inspecting it before the glass was visible. The markings on it made her wonder about its creator, and the pivoting feature was something she found rather interesting as she turned the mirror around to face her properly.
At first, nothing happened - the tavern was reflected behind her, its patrons the same as they were when she had walked up to the mirror. The petite Ayr stared back at herself, white strands of hair falling to frame her face as they always did while the rest was kept very short and mostly black, like always. Golden eyes that sparkled with Light blinked several times as she looked over her armour...as it changed.
Rather than the thin iron chainmail she was wearing, the figure became clad in something quite different. This Merrique seemed taller suddenly, with enchanted black iron mail tunic and greaves while her arms were covered by similar colour plate mail pauldrons and gauntlets; the armour sparkled with an almost holy silver-white light, and engraved on each broad surface of the pauldrons was the symbol she'd planned on using when she became a knight...though there were a few changes on it she could not understand.
Like a mist drifting over water, another image began to superimpose itself over the Knight Mai`claire.
Standing atop a rainy, wind swept mountain side, a different figure can be seen. This woman is clearly human, her long red hair tangled in waves blown back from her face by the wind. She wears what would now be considered an ancient style of platemail, the pauldrons baring a distinct WR on them; in her hands rests a sword of power that seems to almost hum in time with the archs of lightening that dance across the skies. The image is familiar to Merrique, though she had only ever known it as a sketch within an old tome; as a child she had memorized every detail of the sketch, and in her mind's eye she would recall the picture, reminding her of why she wished to become a knight.
A smile touched the lips of the young girl as she looked at the ghostly image, the sight of her hero and the woman she longed to be something she would never forget.
The woman in ancient armour faded, but the lightning torn skies and her sword remained, becoming one for an instant before the Knigh Mai`clair raised her hand and took the sword down from the skies. A flash of lightning struck the point, racing down towards the hilt before wrapping over her hand and racing up her arm. The young knight was wreathed by the lightning for a moment before the skies and their power faded away as mist in the morning.
Holding the sword across her chest, the Knight Mai`claire smiled softly from the mirror; behind her the tavern had changed. It was slightly larger, and quite a bit busier than even the best nights now, its patronage just as varied as ever. Standing behind and to the left of her was a tall Koada`Dal woman, another knight in elaborate ebon plate armour, with pauldrons that bore similar symbols to the unfamiliar one on Knight Mai`claire's. When she smiled, two sharp teeth were visible behind her full red lips, though the woman did not look as frightful as she should.
Barely a step away from the older Merrique, a mostly human man - only slightly older than she - dressed in the dark plate armour trimmed with antique gold of a shadow knight stood, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder. His black hair was cut short, similar to her own in many ways, and his two near-colourless eyes burn with conflicting emotions...the fires of passion and the flames of darkness.
The younger, real Merrique stands at the mirror, her mouth open in shock at the male figure. She knew him well, though she had not seen him for nearly a year now; the last they'd been in the others presence was a day she wished to forget, when he'd denounced everything they'd promised as children.
They were...happy, in a way...at least they looked as though they were.
Fading away, the image begins to become ghostly and difficult to see. The young squire squints her eyes as the fading ghost of Knight Mai`claire smiles broadly, as she thought she saw something not quite believable, but the image has become so indistinct, she shakes her head thinking that it was just the way the image faded.
Now the Squire Mai`claire looks back at the tavern, the magic gone and the mirror silent once more. Calmly, the girl reaches up and turns the mirror back to its original position - glass away from the eyes of the patrons - and turns to walk away. Many patrons had witnessed the images in the mirror, though she did not yet wish to hear their thoughts. Instead she nods sharply and walks across the room to the stairs, once more ascending them to her room.
When she had finally made her way back to her room at the Raven, Merrique quickly put her larger weapons away, keeping a simple short sword on her left hip after the events that had been occurring recently; she did not wish to be caught off guard and without a weapon should whatever was threatening the woman Laenne return.
There was a buzz about the entire establishment, speaking of a strange mirror that Duvessa had somehow acquired - the stories there varied from it being a gift from the Foci herself to more realistic rumors that she bought it from someone who just didn't know what they had. Either way, the abilities of the mirror had her curious, and like any Ayr`Dal, she had to take care of the burning obsession before it drove her crazy.
Despite only being fourteen years of age, the aspiring knight believed she knew herself very well, and so unlike many who spoke of their feelings with this mirror, she was not afraid of what might be reflected.
The tavern was more crowded than it had been when she arrived, and with her typical confident stride, the chain-clad girl walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, inspecting it before the glass was visible. The markings on it made her wonder about its creator, and the pivoting feature was something she found rather interesting as she turned the mirror around to face her properly.
At first, nothing happened - the tavern was reflected behind her, its patrons the same as they were when she had walked up to the mirror. The petite Ayr stared back at herself, white strands of hair falling to frame her face as they always did while the rest was kept very short and mostly black, like always. Golden eyes that sparkled with Light blinked several times as she looked over her armour...as it changed.
Rather than the thin iron chainmail she was wearing, the figure became clad in something quite different. This Merrique seemed taller suddenly, with enchanted black iron mail tunic and greaves while her arms were covered by similar colour plate mail pauldrons and gauntlets; the armour sparkled with an almost holy silver-white light, and engraved on each broad surface of the pauldrons was the symbol she'd planned on using when she became a knight...though there were a few changes on it she could not understand.
Like a mist drifting over water, another image began to superimpose itself over the Knight Mai`claire.
Standing atop a rainy, wind swept mountain side, a different figure can be seen. This woman is clearly human, her long red hair tangled in waves blown back from her face by the wind. She wears what would now be considered an ancient style of platemail, the pauldrons baring a distinct WR on them; in her hands rests a sword of power that seems to almost hum in time with the archs of lightening that dance across the skies. The image is familiar to Merrique, though she had only ever known it as a sketch within an old tome; as a child she had memorized every detail of the sketch, and in her mind's eye she would recall the picture, reminding her of why she wished to become a knight.
A smile touched the lips of the young girl as she looked at the ghostly image, the sight of her hero and the woman she longed to be something she would never forget.
The woman in ancient armour faded, but the lightning torn skies and her sword remained, becoming one for an instant before the Knigh Mai`clair raised her hand and took the sword down from the skies. A flash of lightning struck the point, racing down towards the hilt before wrapping over her hand and racing up her arm. The young knight was wreathed by the lightning for a moment before the skies and their power faded away as mist in the morning.
Holding the sword across her chest, the Knight Mai`claire smiled softly from the mirror; behind her the tavern had changed. It was slightly larger, and quite a bit busier than even the best nights now, its patronage just as varied as ever. Standing behind and to the left of her was a tall Koada`Dal woman, another knight in elaborate ebon plate armour, with pauldrons that bore similar symbols to the unfamiliar one on Knight Mai`claire's. When she smiled, two sharp teeth were visible behind her full red lips, though the woman did not look as frightful as she should.
Barely a step away from the older Merrique, a mostly human man - only slightly older than she - dressed in the dark plate armour trimmed with antique gold of a shadow knight stood, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder. His black hair was cut short, similar to her own in many ways, and his two near-colourless eyes burn with conflicting emotions...the fires of passion and the flames of darkness.
The younger, real Merrique stands at the mirror, her mouth open in shock at the male figure. She knew him well, though she had not seen him for nearly a year now; the last they'd been in the others presence was a day she wished to forget, when he'd denounced everything they'd promised as children.
They were...happy, in a way...at least they looked as though they were.
Fading away, the image begins to become ghostly and difficult to see. The young squire squints her eyes as the fading ghost of Knight Mai`claire smiles broadly, as she thought she saw something not quite believable, but the image has become so indistinct, she shakes her head thinking that it was just the way the image faded.
Now the Squire Mai`claire looks back at the tavern, the magic gone and the mirror silent once more. Calmly, the girl reaches up and turns the mirror back to its original position - glass away from the eyes of the patrons - and turns to walk away. Many patrons had witnessed the images in the mirror, though she did not yet wish to hear their thoughts. Instead she nods sharply and walks across the room to the stairs, once more ascending them to her room.
Date: Windday, 23rd, Greyeven
I knew there was a reason I didn't ever keep one of these before - time!
I've been a resident of the Raven Mythic for roughly two days, and though I wished to see them again, Seregel and Kerris have not been about when I have.
Yesterday was...eventful. The scares time I got outside the Mythic rather surprised me, as Dagorel sent a younger fighter out to train with me, telling him he might learn a thing or two from me - the lad was lacking in the tact area, but after his initial fumbles, he was alright as a traveling companion.
His name is Fenuir, and he's supposedly the child of a...how did he put it...ranger-turned-noble? Yes, it sounds quite surreal to me as well, but he was rather serious about it; I could not, however, tell if his father was missing or simply dead.
Even more surreal was the fact that his last name is Stormrider, though from what I could get out of him, he is not directly related to Sai Marca. He claims to know the truth about all of that, but declined to share the information; he felt it was best I didn't know...which only servers to annoy me.
There was much we needed to take care of - chores his sister apparently dumped onto him - so I dropped it, but Fenuir is aware that I'm not going to put up with this run around for long.
Once he left my company to report to Dagorel, I returned to the Mythic and slept for some time. Waking once I went downstairs to eat, and there were many goings on - some of the Teir`Dal took an interest in me after hearing that Seregel is polite to me, and once they found that it had to do with my desire for becoming a knight, the wanted to know what was so special about it.
I sort of blew that one of to the vague truth that I have a role model from the tales about the Knights of Storm, which started a whole different conversation and got me out from under the spotlight. Miss Duvessa's interruption to have the bard taste her newest creation from the kitchen helped as well.
There was a slight shift back to me once the bard - Lady Nuala - mentioned she was a Knight, but not for her battle prowess; the attention did not last long, and I was able to slip away back to my room for more sleep.
I think that's what I like most about this place - I can sleep whenever I want without interruptions! Dear Gods, that is a blessing I never had at the barracks, even on our off days.
Earlier I awoke and had breakfast before heading out; Miss Duvessa was still up and we had a small conversation. She seemed to be in good spirits, though from her comments, I assume that it is not a natural state for the woman. Due to her good mood, she's offered to have one of her girls give me a full massage and such to help me really relax the way a girl should; though it made me blush a bit, she made it clear it would be completely non-sexual, since she knows I'm not quite wanting of such.
She mentioned something about not having a warm body to curl up next to, and I said that I'd probably end up wanting one once the novelty of having my own bed wore off...to that Miss Duvessa offered to have a magical stuffed animal made with a heating spell in it. While I think that would be lovely, I know that the boys back at the barrarcks would have a hay-day with that, and I'd never hear the end of it.
It was shortly there after that she wondered off to bed, and I headed out into the world again. I spent much of my time defending a small group of adventurers against those strange scarecrows in the Northern Farmlands; they all seemed to like me over the other squires there, and one even made many a comment about how I was their better.
This only makes me more frustrated about the lack of a knight - Duvessa has mentioned Sir Latharos, but from her description of him last eve, I am beginning to wonder if someone of his caliber even has the time for a studying squire...
...damnable frustrations....
I've been a resident of the Raven Mythic for roughly two days, and though I wished to see them again, Seregel and Kerris have not been about when I have.
Yesterday was...eventful. The scares time I got outside the Mythic rather surprised me, as Dagorel sent a younger fighter out to train with me, telling him he might learn a thing or two from me - the lad was lacking in the tact area, but after his initial fumbles, he was alright as a traveling companion.
His name is Fenuir, and he's supposedly the child of a...how did he put it...ranger-turned-noble? Yes, it sounds quite surreal to me as well, but he was rather serious about it; I could not, however, tell if his father was missing or simply dead.
Even more surreal was the fact that his last name is Stormrider, though from what I could get out of him, he is not directly related to Sai Marca. He claims to know the truth about all of that, but declined to share the information; he felt it was best I didn't know...which only servers to annoy me.
There was much we needed to take care of - chores his sister apparently dumped onto him - so I dropped it, but Fenuir is aware that I'm not going to put up with this run around for long.
Once he left my company to report to Dagorel, I returned to the Mythic and slept for some time. Waking once I went downstairs to eat, and there were many goings on - some of the Teir`Dal took an interest in me after hearing that Seregel is polite to me, and once they found that it had to do with my desire for becoming a knight, the wanted to know what was so special about it.
I sort of blew that one of to the vague truth that I have a role model from the tales about the Knights of Storm, which started a whole different conversation and got me out from under the spotlight. Miss Duvessa's interruption to have the bard taste her newest creation from the kitchen helped as well.
There was a slight shift back to me once the bard - Lady Nuala - mentioned she was a Knight, but not for her battle prowess; the attention did not last long, and I was able to slip away back to my room for more sleep.
I think that's what I like most about this place - I can sleep whenever I want without interruptions! Dear Gods, that is a blessing I never had at the barracks, even on our off days.
Earlier I awoke and had breakfast before heading out; Miss Duvessa was still up and we had a small conversation. She seemed to be in good spirits, though from her comments, I assume that it is not a natural state for the woman. Due to her good mood, she's offered to have one of her girls give me a full massage and such to help me really relax the way a girl should; though it made me blush a bit, she made it clear it would be completely non-sexual, since she knows I'm not quite wanting of such.
She mentioned something about not having a warm body to curl up next to, and I said that I'd probably end up wanting one once the novelty of having my own bed wore off...to that Miss Duvessa offered to have a magical stuffed animal made with a heating spell in it. While I think that would be lovely, I know that the boys back at the barrarcks would have a hay-day with that, and I'd never hear the end of it.
It was shortly there after that she wondered off to bed, and I headed out into the world again. I spent much of my time defending a small group of adventurers against those strange scarecrows in the Northern Farmlands; they all seemed to like me over the other squires there, and one even made many a comment about how I was their better.
This only makes me more frustrated about the lack of a knight - Duvessa has mentioned Sir Latharos, but from her description of him last eve, I am beginning to wonder if someone of his caliber even has the time for a studying squire...
...damnable frustrations....
Date: Burnday, 21st, Greyeven
I went back to the in today, but since I have little that I was bringing, I took the time to train a bit along the way, battling undead squires and the like as I could find them.
When I arrived, I ordered some food and sat with Kerris, who has told me to stop calling him sir. Miss Duvessa said something about how he and his sword didn't get along, and the statement struck me quite odd. Of course, curiousity being the real middle name of any Ayr, I asked him what she meant by it.
He pulled out his sword, and it started floating above the table...not something normal swords do, indeed. Furthermore, said sword began to speak despite not having a mouth, and I felt something strange through me like it was looking into me. I suppose it is still impolite to gawk at a sentient sword as such, and I was doing so...and the damnable thing pointed it out and got rather nasty with me.
So I returned his attitude, basically calling him a rusted piece of shoddy work, and it continued to be a bit of a bastard. I ended up comparing it to my new carbonite claymore - which is rather shoddy itself, really - to which it turned itself into a Barbarian sized claymore. Apparently feeling inadequately sized is an issue all males, no matter form, have. When I pointed out it had nothing to do with size but attitude and honour, it got quite upset, however Duvessa began to argue with it.
All this was interrupted by a woman named Audina, who was explaining the pleasures of being celibate. It was rather uncomfortable to have anything related to...sexuality and the like...around Kerris, and I began blushing so I tried to focus on my food and drink more.
That blasted sword decided to patronize me about it...by speaking to me in my head. This is not something I've experienced in the past, but from his tone and words, I assumed all I had to do was think and he could hear it; that alone bothered me and made me wonder what all he could get at in that regard.
Surprisingly, he pointed out that being a knight wasn't the granduer and glory one hears the bards sing of. I informed the bloody thing that I was aware of such, and that I wasn't in it for the glory at all. This got his attention and curiosity, I suppose, because the silly thing asked me why I would want to become a knight at all then.
The answers are simple and rather personal, but I was compeled to tell the damn thing just to shut him up. The answers of course being that I wished to serve the light and defend my city, that I wished to prove that a female as tiny and scrawny as I could actually be a good knight...and most importantly, because my father wished for me to live a better life than he even if it meant chaning the stars in the skies.
It seems the answers interested the sword. Once he was silented by them, I took my dishes back to the counter and decided to retire to my new room, since Dagorel is allowing me to live here at the Mythic. Kerris was rather surprised by it all, which I suppose is natural considering I was staring at the damn thing the whole time we were speaking, but he bid me goodnight as did most of the patrons and Miss Duvessa.
As I was walking away, the sword told me - rather politely compared to his other attempts to speak - that it wasn't chastising me for being devouted to my ideals, and I got the impression it was almost glad for the answers given.
I told it good night, and now I am here, in my own room where I get to sleep in my own bed that is an actual bed, where I don't have to worry about some smelly boy rolling over on me.
Thank the Gods.
When I arrived, I ordered some food and sat with Kerris, who has told me to stop calling him sir. Miss Duvessa said something about how he and his sword didn't get along, and the statement struck me quite odd. Of course, curiousity being the real middle name of any Ayr, I asked him what she meant by it.
He pulled out his sword, and it started floating above the table...not something normal swords do, indeed. Furthermore, said sword began to speak despite not having a mouth, and I felt something strange through me like it was looking into me. I suppose it is still impolite to gawk at a sentient sword as such, and I was doing so...and the damnable thing pointed it out and got rather nasty with me.
So I returned his attitude, basically calling him a rusted piece of shoddy work, and it continued to be a bit of a bastard. I ended up comparing it to my new carbonite claymore - which is rather shoddy itself, really - to which it turned itself into a Barbarian sized claymore. Apparently feeling inadequately sized is an issue all males, no matter form, have. When I pointed out it had nothing to do with size but attitude and honour, it got quite upset, however Duvessa began to argue with it.
All this was interrupted by a woman named Audina, who was explaining the pleasures of being celibate. It was rather uncomfortable to have anything related to...sexuality and the like...around Kerris, and I began blushing so I tried to focus on my food and drink more.
That blasted sword decided to patronize me about it...by speaking to me in my head. This is not something I've experienced in the past, but from his tone and words, I assumed all I had to do was think and he could hear it; that alone bothered me and made me wonder what all he could get at in that regard.
Surprisingly, he pointed out that being a knight wasn't the granduer and glory one hears the bards sing of. I informed the bloody thing that I was aware of such, and that I wasn't in it for the glory at all. This got his attention and curiosity, I suppose, because the silly thing asked me why I would want to become a knight at all then.
The answers are simple and rather personal, but I was compeled to tell the damn thing just to shut him up. The answers of course being that I wished to serve the light and defend my city, that I wished to prove that a female as tiny and scrawny as I could actually be a good knight...and most importantly, because my father wished for me to live a better life than he even if it meant chaning the stars in the skies.
It seems the answers interested the sword. Once he was silented by them, I took my dishes back to the counter and decided to retire to my new room, since Dagorel is allowing me to live here at the Mythic. Kerris was rather surprised by it all, which I suppose is natural considering I was staring at the damn thing the whole time we were speaking, but he bid me goodnight as did most of the patrons and Miss Duvessa.
As I was walking away, the sword told me - rather politely compared to his other attempts to speak - that it wasn't chastising me for being devouted to my ideals, and I got the impression it was almost glad for the answers given.
I told it good night, and now I am here, in my own room where I get to sleep in my own bed that is an actual bed, where I don't have to worry about some smelly boy rolling over on me.
Thank the Gods.
Date: Darkday, 20th, Greyeven
For doing absolutely nothing I was supposed to be doing, today was an eventful day.
Rarely do I ever slack off from my training, as I must work twice as hard without the guidance and example of a knight to follow, but after another round of reviews, I really didn't have the heart to keep at it today.
I found a torn flier for little establishment called the Raven Mythic. It boasted having a facility that was friendly and comfortable to neutral parties, and both Qeynosians and Freeporters. While I don't really drink, since Dagorel would have my hide, I was quite hungry by then, and my rations were looking less and less appealing the longer I stared at the flier.
So I decided to go to this Raven Mythic, and it was quite the interesting time. They had good food, and I was able to eat mostly without interruption, as it was quite busy and few people take notice of someone as small and as young as I am. Once things slowed down, the proprietor - another Ayr named Duvessa - started speaking about childhood habits, and somehow I got myself involved in the conversation.
I didn't really mean to, but I guess I complained quite a bit about having to live in the squire barracks, as Duvessa informed me she had a number of rooms that cost fractions of a silver, which is something I could afford considering I make little as a freelance squire. We agreed on a room, and I'm going to move in there now that I've talked to Dagorel about it all and have permission.
There was a bit to do about men, and love and such, and I again had a loud mouth and stated I had no interests in men after living with a pack of dirty boys. Duvessa...informed me...that she could, uh, send me one of her girls...I do believe she meant whores, which is just against the codes I've been raised following; it was also quite embarassing to think about doing...those things...with another girl. I declined, of course.
Round that time, a gentleman - if you could call him that really - Feir came into the place from the baths, wearing just a towel. He made snide comments about how I might change my tune about men given a few years to grow up, which only served to piss me off; a nice woman named Iryssinia retorted by saying it's more so that the boys needed a few years to grow up before women could change their tunes about them.
One of Duvessa's girls - I assume - came over to me and began to massage my bare arms, and what she could get of my shoulders, whispering how it was alright to distrust men, as she felt the same. That it was only natural.
This Tirian chap proved to only piss me off further, and while I was glaring at him, a second Feir came into the tavern area and I looked over at him for a moment before glaring at Tirian again. The new arrival almost mistook my anger as being directed at him, until he followed my gaze back to Tirian...at which point he asked what the other man had done.
Tirian informed him that he took the job of harassing the ladies when this other man wasn't here, which only made me want to kick him. The new arrival, however, made a comment about if it was just a lover's quarrel, which threw my attention off and set me blushing.
After clearing that mess up, the roguesh man introduced himself as Kerris, and we ended up in this conversation about the Enchanted Lands. Several people came into the bar and added to the conversation along with those who were there, and I got quite a bit better picture than what the books in the Concordium could tell me.
It was drawing late, and though Kerris had promised to tell me of a place known as Zek, I realized that I needed to get back to the barrarcks, report to Dagorel and get permission to move. The woman massaging my shoulders asked me to join her in the baths, and I guess in my panicking about getting back, I spoke to loudly, as everyone heard me turn her down for reporting back to Dagorel.
Kerris was a bit surprised, but he was very polite and offered to finish his tales later. I suppose I shall go back tonight and move my few things there, finish up my conversation with this Kerris. Despite striking me as a lady's man, he proved to be fairly intriguing, and I do hope to see him again.
For now, I have a bit of boy arse kicking to do...
Rarely do I ever slack off from my training, as I must work twice as hard without the guidance and example of a knight to follow, but after another round of reviews, I really didn't have the heart to keep at it today.
I found a torn flier for little establishment called the Raven Mythic. It boasted having a facility that was friendly and comfortable to neutral parties, and both Qeynosians and Freeporters. While I don't really drink, since Dagorel would have my hide, I was quite hungry by then, and my rations were looking less and less appealing the longer I stared at the flier.
So I decided to go to this Raven Mythic, and it was quite the interesting time. They had good food, and I was able to eat mostly without interruption, as it was quite busy and few people take notice of someone as small and as young as I am. Once things slowed down, the proprietor - another Ayr named Duvessa - started speaking about childhood habits, and somehow I got myself involved in the conversation.
I didn't really mean to, but I guess I complained quite a bit about having to live in the squire barracks, as Duvessa informed me she had a number of rooms that cost fractions of a silver, which is something I could afford considering I make little as a freelance squire. We agreed on a room, and I'm going to move in there now that I've talked to Dagorel about it all and have permission.
There was a bit to do about men, and love and such, and I again had a loud mouth and stated I had no interests in men after living with a pack of dirty boys. Duvessa...informed me...that she could, uh, send me one of her girls...I do believe she meant whores, which is just against the codes I've been raised following; it was also quite embarassing to think about doing...those things...with another girl. I declined, of course.
Round that time, a gentleman - if you could call him that really - Feir came into the place from the baths, wearing just a towel. He made snide comments about how I might change my tune about men given a few years to grow up, which only served to piss me off; a nice woman named Iryssinia retorted by saying it's more so that the boys needed a few years to grow up before women could change their tunes about them.
One of Duvessa's girls - I assume - came over to me and began to massage my bare arms, and what she could get of my shoulders, whispering how it was alright to distrust men, as she felt the same. That it was only natural.
This Tirian chap proved to only piss me off further, and while I was glaring at him, a second Feir came into the tavern area and I looked over at him for a moment before glaring at Tirian again. The new arrival almost mistook my anger as being directed at him, until he followed my gaze back to Tirian...at which point he asked what the other man had done.
Tirian informed him that he took the job of harassing the ladies when this other man wasn't here, which only made me want to kick him. The new arrival, however, made a comment about if it was just a lover's quarrel, which threw my attention off and set me blushing.
After clearing that mess up, the roguesh man introduced himself as Kerris, and we ended up in this conversation about the Enchanted Lands. Several people came into the bar and added to the conversation along with those who were there, and I got quite a bit better picture than what the books in the Concordium could tell me.
It was drawing late, and though Kerris had promised to tell me of a place known as Zek, I realized that I needed to get back to the barrarcks, report to Dagorel and get permission to move. The woman massaging my shoulders asked me to join her in the baths, and I guess in my panicking about getting back, I spoke to loudly, as everyone heard me turn her down for reporting back to Dagorel.
Kerris was a bit surprised, but he was very polite and offered to finish his tales later. I suppose I shall go back tonight and move my few things there, finish up my conversation with this Kerris. Despite striking me as a lady's man, he proved to be fairly intriguing, and I do hope to see him again.
For now, I have a bit of boy arse kicking to do...
Date: Brewday, 18th, Greyeven
It seems Varsoon's legacy continues within Antonica despite the necromancer's death...if he truly died.
A group of us squires took a few of the younger priests with us, and ventured out to the Isle of the Forbidden to lay to rest as many of the cursed fighters as we could.
Tedious, the task was cut short by a large ressurgence of the undead, and there were too few of us to continue our efforts. A rather eerie corpse, claiming to be someone named Renux, seemed to be leading this new onslaught of risen dead - whoever it was, this Renux is a rather powerful undead enchanter now.
Afterwards, I had another basically pointless review with Dagorel - I call them worthless as no matter how good my reviews may read, they've yet to do me any good.
Sword and Board on Foot - Extremely Capable
Heavy Sword on Foot - Very Capable
Offense on Foot - Extremely Capable
Defense on Foot - Moderately Capable
Weapon Knowledge - Very Capable
Armour Knowledge - Very Capable
Tack and Care Knowledge - Extremely Capable
Academics - Moderately Capable - writing skills need work
Same as the last damn one.
I wish Dagorel were a younger dwarf - he claims if these were his glory days he'd still be in good enough condition to teach me the more advanced techniques that the knights use.
For now, I must watch and learn, and pray that I can be a squire in more than just name, markings and grades.
A group of us squires took a few of the younger priests with us, and ventured out to the Isle of the Forbidden to lay to rest as many of the cursed fighters as we could.
Tedious, the task was cut short by a large ressurgence of the undead, and there were too few of us to continue our efforts. A rather eerie corpse, claiming to be someone named Renux, seemed to be leading this new onslaught of risen dead - whoever it was, this Renux is a rather powerful undead enchanter now.
Afterwards, I had another basically pointless review with Dagorel - I call them worthless as no matter how good my reviews may read, they've yet to do me any good.
Sword and Board on Foot - Extremely Capable
Heavy Sword on Foot - Very Capable
Offense on Foot - Extremely Capable
Defense on Foot - Moderately Capable
Weapon Knowledge - Very Capable
Armour Knowledge - Very Capable
Tack and Care Knowledge - Extremely Capable
Academics - Moderately Capable - writing skills need work
Same as the last damn one.
I wish Dagorel were a younger dwarf - he claims if these were his glory days he'd still be in good enough condition to teach me the more advanced techniques that the knights use.
For now, I must watch and learn, and pray that I can be a squire in more than just name, markings and grades.
Date: Steelday, 17th, Greyeven
Sheila suggested I start writing my adventures down, since we know no bards to do it for me. I really shall have to find a bard as a herald once I am a knight - I'm horrible at these things, despite my many attempts to write short fictions about the Sais' battle against the Vers.
I suppose I should preface myself a bit, as whoever reads this won't know me from Firiona.
My name is Merrique Anne Mai`claire - I come from a simple line of an otherwise well-off family, but I prefer to be as we are in some respects. While I do not enjoy watching my family suffer financially, I do not wish to sell myself as my aunts have.
Even with their actions, my aunts are still not in any sort of grand position, though it appears being a scribe or librarian pays better than what any in my direct family does.
Father - Jonthan Mai`claire - is a groomsman at the Coldwind Coast Stables in Southern Qeynos, mother - Eliza - is an assistant tailor to the heirophant Selwyn, while my older sisters are good wives of a baker and an apprentice smith; all of which make their homes in Nettleville Hovel, as no one can afford a better life than that.
I suppose I have always been looked to as sort of a last hope - though my sister Malina tells me that our parents wished for a boy, but settled for me. Their desires were granted at least in a small form, as I am quite the tomboy and the like.
Being the youngest, and the tomboy, my youth was spent being encouraged to follow my dream of becoming a knight, though I think neither of my parents truly believe this to be possible. Despite such things as being far to petite and frail, I have become quite good with a sword, and have since been sent to train under the Master-at-Arms until I am sworn to a knight as a squire.
Though I have not heard from my childhood friend, Andrew, since he became a squire, I keep the tin long sword he gave me for my seventh birthday with me. It is mounted on a wood plaque now, to remind me both of the dreams we shared and his betrayal to them. It is clear he no longer cares for me now that he is a squire - no letters have been recieved, and no word of him since his family moved to the Thundermist Village in the Steppes.
So that is Merrique in a nutshell - less the fact I pose as a boy when necessary, but that's another situation entirely.
And now, the daily accounts Sheila said I should write begin.
Today had been largely uneventful - I spend my time training by fighting undead fighters in Antonica, laying to rest the souls of squires and knights that have been perverted by Varsoon or some other well to do necromancer. However, today a refreshing interlude was given.
A page summoned me from near the Isle of the Forbidden, and informed me that Master-at-Arms Dagorel wished to speak to me. Of course, I knew what this meant and followed the page back into town, up to the Fount of Storms where Dagorel met us.
Once the page had left, the Master-at-Arms took me into his office, a small affair that was once part of the large hall there. He informed me that 'Drew' has yet again caught the attention of a knight with 'his' marks and references, and that said knight was waiting for 'Drew' to arrive at the Northern Farmlands where he was practicing.
Dressing the part of 'Drew' is no longer difficult, as I've done it so many times. Keep the chestwraps tight enough to press down the breasts, but not enough to chafe beneat the chainmail; wear the smaller chain shirt that was made for Andrew years ago, and pad the crotch a bit to make it look like I've got the slight bulge all boys do. Muse the hair into anarchy, marr the face with some dirt, and there you have 'Drew'.
There were many knights and their squires up on the fields of the Northern Farmlands. Several archways had been set up, each with small rings hanging by thin threads on them; the knights all were arguing over how they were going to make "this" work, and make it an addition to their tournaments.
When I asked another of the squires, he explained that one of the knights had found an old tome about the tournament games the they used to have before the Age of Turmoil and the cataclysms. Some of them were already in use - sword on foot, sword and board on foot, sword on horseback, sword and board on horseback, etc - but one really had the men going crazy.
It's a sport called "jousting" - which I assume the knights meant by "this" - and they were up in arms over the fact that the lances made now were too light for horseback charges, causing them to flutter about in the air no matter how tight a stance they used.
There are two ways to joust - one requiring another party and the other a single rider, though each actually has several participents over time, with several rounds each.
Apparently the first is referred to as rings commonly, and requires a rider to make up to three passes at small rings, which they spear with their lance. Should there be ties, the rings get progressively smaller until one rider is able to spear more rings than the other in three passes.
For as simple as that sounds...the knights were having a time of it due to the shoddy lances. I don't think I've ever heard such words from the mouths of crusaders in all my years training with the Master-at-Arms!
The second is considered a 'purer' form of the event, with a low fence running several yards as a guide rail for the two riders; each is on an opposite side and charge each other with blunt lances, the idea is to knock the other from their horse or break the lance upon their being. With the awkwardness of the lances, they were not even attempting to use this form of the sport, wishing to avoid injuring each other in their tests.
I rather like the idea of the sport, personally, and I plan on harassing Dagorel until he helps me find out more about it. I'm sure the old dwarf has a book or two up his sleeves on the subject.
After a time of talking with the squire, I was finally approached by a knight. He was rather baudy, and lewd for a paladin, but I suppose I should expect such things from a Barbarian. I was made to tend to his gear and horse, which was more than easy considering my upbringing, and then fight another one of the squires.
Despite winning, the knight dismissed me - citing as all the others have that I am far to scrawny a lad to be considered. They always believe that I'm going to break under the smallest amout of extended work, and dismiss me.
Frustration is of course burning within me, but I will become a knight - even if I must teach myself!
I suppose I should preface myself a bit, as whoever reads this won't know me from Firiona.
My name is Merrique Anne Mai`claire - I come from a simple line of an otherwise well-off family, but I prefer to be as we are in some respects. While I do not enjoy watching my family suffer financially, I do not wish to sell myself as my aunts have.
Even with their actions, my aunts are still not in any sort of grand position, though it appears being a scribe or librarian pays better than what any in my direct family does.
Father - Jonthan Mai`claire - is a groomsman at the Coldwind Coast Stables in Southern Qeynos, mother - Eliza - is an assistant tailor to the heirophant Selwyn, while my older sisters are good wives of a baker and an apprentice smith; all of which make their homes in Nettleville Hovel, as no one can afford a better life than that.
I suppose I have always been looked to as sort of a last hope - though my sister Malina tells me that our parents wished for a boy, but settled for me. Their desires were granted at least in a small form, as I am quite the tomboy and the like.
Being the youngest, and the tomboy, my youth was spent being encouraged to follow my dream of becoming a knight, though I think neither of my parents truly believe this to be possible. Despite such things as being far to petite and frail, I have become quite good with a sword, and have since been sent to train under the Master-at-Arms until I am sworn to a knight as a squire.
Though I have not heard from my childhood friend, Andrew, since he became a squire, I keep the tin long sword he gave me for my seventh birthday with me. It is mounted on a wood plaque now, to remind me both of the dreams we shared and his betrayal to them. It is clear he no longer cares for me now that he is a squire - no letters have been recieved, and no word of him since his family moved to the Thundermist Village in the Steppes.
So that is Merrique in a nutshell - less the fact I pose as a boy when necessary, but that's another situation entirely.
And now, the daily accounts Sheila said I should write begin.
Today had been largely uneventful - I spend my time training by fighting undead fighters in Antonica, laying to rest the souls of squires and knights that have been perverted by Varsoon or some other well to do necromancer. However, today a refreshing interlude was given.
A page summoned me from near the Isle of the Forbidden, and informed me that Master-at-Arms Dagorel wished to speak to me. Of course, I knew what this meant and followed the page back into town, up to the Fount of Storms where Dagorel met us.
Once the page had left, the Master-at-Arms took me into his office, a small affair that was once part of the large hall there. He informed me that 'Drew' has yet again caught the attention of a knight with 'his' marks and references, and that said knight was waiting for 'Drew' to arrive at the Northern Farmlands where he was practicing.
Dressing the part of 'Drew' is no longer difficult, as I've done it so many times. Keep the chestwraps tight enough to press down the breasts, but not enough to chafe beneat the chainmail; wear the smaller chain shirt that was made for Andrew years ago, and pad the crotch a bit to make it look like I've got the slight bulge all boys do. Muse the hair into anarchy, marr the face with some dirt, and there you have 'Drew'.
There were many knights and their squires up on the fields of the Northern Farmlands. Several archways had been set up, each with small rings hanging by thin threads on them; the knights all were arguing over how they were going to make "this" work, and make it an addition to their tournaments.
When I asked another of the squires, he explained that one of the knights had found an old tome about the tournament games the they used to have before the Age of Turmoil and the cataclysms. Some of them were already in use - sword on foot, sword and board on foot, sword on horseback, sword and board on horseback, etc - but one really had the men going crazy.
It's a sport called "jousting" - which I assume the knights meant by "this" - and they were up in arms over the fact that the lances made now were too light for horseback charges, causing them to flutter about in the air no matter how tight a stance they used.
There are two ways to joust - one requiring another party and the other a single rider, though each actually has several participents over time, with several rounds each.
Apparently the first is referred to as rings commonly, and requires a rider to make up to three passes at small rings, which they spear with their lance. Should there be ties, the rings get progressively smaller until one rider is able to spear more rings than the other in three passes.
For as simple as that sounds...the knights were having a time of it due to the shoddy lances. I don't think I've ever heard such words from the mouths of crusaders in all my years training with the Master-at-Arms!
The second is considered a 'purer' form of the event, with a low fence running several yards as a guide rail for the two riders; each is on an opposite side and charge each other with blunt lances, the idea is to knock the other from their horse or break the lance upon their being. With the awkwardness of the lances, they were not even attempting to use this form of the sport, wishing to avoid injuring each other in their tests.
I rather like the idea of the sport, personally, and I plan on harassing Dagorel until he helps me find out more about it. I'm sure the old dwarf has a book or two up his sleeves on the subject.
After a time of talking with the squire, I was finally approached by a knight. He was rather baudy, and lewd for a paladin, but I suppose I should expect such things from a Barbarian. I was made to tend to his gear and horse, which was more than easy considering my upbringing, and then fight another one of the squires.
Despite winning, the knight dismissed me - citing as all the others have that I am far to scrawny a lad to be considered. They always believe that I'm going to break under the smallest amout of extended work, and dismiss me.
Frustration is of course burning within me, but I will become a knight - even if I must teach myself!
Story: Paint the Skies with Stars
The History of Merrique Mai`claire
It is said that a man can change his stars…
…can one woman change hers…
Jonthan was a simple man, despite his sisters’ talents with magic; he himself was quite plain in comparison to the women in his family, but he preferred such things. Unlike his sisters, who served within the Temple of Life or within the walls of the Concordium, Jonthan was a simple groomsman.
While the stables made quite a bit of money from selling their steeds, those who tended to them would never see even a tenth of that profit. Feed, more steeds and mares for breeding, medicine when they were sick, adornments for the parade ponies – there were far to many things to be paid for, though much of the profit went to the stable owner’s lavish lifestyle.
Though he always wondered if he would be better off as a hand in a livery stable of some noble or rich merchant, Jonthan enjoyed the rare opportunities that came from working for a public stable. There were many up and coming merchants and adventurers that frequented the shop in South Qeynos, not only to purchase tack and steeds, but to learn more about the care of their horse; though not knowledgeable in many things, he loved being able to share the scant bit of insight he had with the younger generations of Qeynosians.
Eliza had been a member of a rather well off merchant house of Koada`Dal, however the extravagant lifestyle of her kin left her wanting. Expected to always be a prim and proper young lady, she quickly became board by life within the high-class society of Qeynos. After her father began plans for an arranged marriage, Eliza left her family home, using a magic charm to turn herself into a human.
Though it took quite some time, she was able to finish several odd jobs for the guards within Nettleville Hovel and purchase a small apartment for herself. She met Jonthan a few days later on Market Row, and the two shared a rather romantic evening at the Lion’s Mane Inn.
During their dinner, Jonthan spoke of his life as a groomsman at the stables, and Eliza found herself drawn to the simple world that he had created for himself. The country charm that the stable hand exuded was compelling, and she found herself surprisingly saddened when it came time for them to part.
Unfortunately, Jonthan was traditional in many ways she had not expected; as their dinners together grew more frequent, he pressed Eliza about meeting her family, and asking her father for permission to court her properly. For a number of weeks, she was able to avoid the discussion, but it was not long before Jonthan realized that she was keeping something from him.
Eventually, she was able to reveal to him her true heritage, and explain to him that her father would not allow them to see each other. Surprised, but no less in love, he agreed to forgo that particular formality, and the two began to court. By the next spring, they were married and sharing an apartment within Nettleville; a few months later they were blessed with their first child, Sheila.
Sheila was a quite child, taking great interest in her mother’s craft of tailoring. There were many questions within the Hovel about the child – it was nearly impossible to hide that she was Ayr’Dal, and soon Eliza and Jonthan found themselves confronted by one of the priests.
The priest was unforgiving of Eliza, as her father had long ago made quite the buzz about her absence, offering coin and other trinkets for the safe return of his daughter; though claiming purity to the last; the priest was lured by the promise of riches and betrayed the couple to her father.
At first, her family tried to forcibly bring her back to their home, which only resulted in the guards being summoned; as Eliza was well past the age considered too young to leave their parents home, her family and their assistants were removed from the premises and warned to not disrupt the peace in Nettleville with their petty arguments again.
Like any rich merchant, her father attempted to bribe Jonthan into leaving his daughter, hoping that such an event would force her home again. Much to his disappointment, Jonthan was not as greedy as the priest had been, and refused to sell his love even for platinum coins. Eliza was enraged by her father’s actions, and after a heated argument outside the southern gates, the couple have not been bothered – unable to accept a Human as a son-in-law, her father disowned her and even paid the scribes to remove his family’s name from her records.
Eliza no longer hid her heritage, though it took a number of month to explain to Sheila that the Koada`Dal was her mother. Their lives returned a more normal, though rather poor, situation; Jonthan continued to work for the stables, and Eliza took up a position as an assistant tailor for Selwyn in South Qeynos.
Six years later, the couple was blessed with a pair of twin girls – Ashlae and Malina – who were both very frail. Sheila had been rather weak as a toddler, but eventually she grew out of it, and though she was still quite frail physically, she was rarely ill after a time; Ashlae and Malina were always ill with something, or injured with broken bones and sprains. The pair was very much like their aunts had been as children, however they both lacked any talent to heal themselves or use magic to make their lives easier.
During Eliza’s third pregnancy ten years after their birth, Ashlae fell down the stairs and broke her neck, dying several days later. Malina seemed to go into a sort of mourning after the death of her sister, and refused to speak to anyone; their mother and father were beside themselves with grief, which began to cause complications with Eliza’s pregnancy.
The couple had been praying to Rodcet that their child would be a strong, healthy male who might someday take over for Jonthan at the stables, but when Eliza began an early labor, it was clear that any child they had now would not be healthy. During the night, on a dark, rare stormy day in winter, their fourth child was born – premature, they were thankful the babe had lived, but neither could hide their disappointment over the child’s gender.
Their fourth child was also a girl. Her name would be Merrique – a feminine form of the name they had chosen for what they had hoped would be their son.
Surprisingly, Malina scorned her younger sister, cursing her name violently whenever she saw the child. Twice Malina had tried to kill her baby sister, though whenever anyone tried to speak to her about the matter, she would return to her stony silence as though she had never broken it. Many priests believed her mad, and even Jonthan’s own sisters proclaimed that she had given herself over to the missing Vazaelle.
Always the benevolent young woman, Sheila quit her job in North Qeynos to care for her younger sisters. The first few years of Merrique’s life were rough, as one older sister continually cursed and belittled her while the other was kind and loving. Eliza tried her best to keep Merrique with her constantly, but the child’s curiosity was more trouble than it was worth when she took her to Selwyn’s little garden.
When she was very young, shortly after her third birthday, Merrique met Andrew – the young Human lad lived just a few doors away from the Mai`claire, and unlike most of the others in Qeynos who were wary of even Jonthan’s line of Mai`claire, his family was not. Though not an expected solution, their constant companionship and playtime at Andrew’s house kept Merrique safe from her sister.
It took two broken bones for Andrew to learn that he could not rough house with Merrique quite the way he could with the boys they sometimes played with. However, she insisted on playing swords with them, demanding the boys – who received formal training – teach her how to use them.
When she was seven, the two families held a small party to celebrate her birthday. Malina was surprisingly polite to her sister, and was content to linger at the edges of the guests, away from Merrique but not hiding at home. There were few gifts, but one was quite magical for the child.
Blushing, Andrew gave her a long, rectangular box with a bright red bow tying it shut; when she opened it, there was a blunted tin sword resting upon cream coloured tissue paper. Merrique gave the boy several kisses before standing up with the blade, testing it the way the boys had shown her.
Several days later, Jonthan found the children playing near the stables; most of them had hardened wood swords, but Merrique carried the shiny tin sword with her. To his surprise, she was able to keep up with the lads she fought with, though several times he watched a bruise blossom under their swords, reminding him how much like his sisters she truly was.
“Papa, papa! Look at me! Someday I won’t just pretend to be Sai Marca,” she shouted as they fought their way past the stables, “I will be just like her!”
The children loved to play a game of imagination, where some of them were the evil Vers while others were the noble Sais from the Age of Turmoil. Always, without question, Merrique was the Sai known as Marca Stormrider with Andrew playing the part of her ranger companion. While Jonthan found their excitement refreshing, he was always afraid that one day he would come home, and the girl would be broken badly with her dreams crushed beneath a life of suffering.
As he stood talking to the other hands, Merrique rushed up to him after slaying the evil Reflection, Andrew at her heels with a broad grin.
“Papa, do you think I can become a great knight like Sai Marca?” she asked, innocent eyes looking up at him.
The other stable hands laughed, giving Jonthan looks of sympathy, as they knew that even for a healthy child, such dreams were just that – dreams.
“The child of a stable hand – a Mai`claire at that? A knight? You might as well try to change the stars, lass!” one said, receiving a harsh kick from another for speaking before thinking.
“Is it true, papa? Or c an a man change his stars,” she asked, pausing for a breath before finishing, “or a woman, like me?”
Glaring once at his co-workers, Jonthan knelt to look at Merrique and Andrew. Both children were from very poor families, who had lived as simple men and women in Nettleville for generations – perhaps even longer than that, though few knew much about their family’s times before the cataclysms. Most of the children from their generations, though knowing an uneasy peace, would never become more than what their parents were before them.
Nodding, he simply said, “A man – or a woman, as it were – can do anything, if they put their minds to it.”
Smiling, Merrique raised her sword in a salute she’d learned watching the guards before she and Andrew ran back to their friends. The other hands were silent, watching Jonthan for a moment before one of them coughed and reminded them all that they were on the clock.
Seven Years Later
“Papa! I’ve done it! I’m allowed to be a Squire once I find a knight who will take me!”
Merrique ran up to the stables, wearing a sparkling suit of iron chainmail and the tunic that the Master-at-Arms had given her for proving her abilities to him. Her long hair was pulled back in a leather barrette, and where once there had been a simple tin sword was now a beautiful long sword.
He was proud of her, of course, still amazed that a woman so tiny and petite as his daughter had succeed in the tasks set out before her by the old dwarf. Several of the hands had been on duty the day she had asked if she could become like Sai Marca Stormrider, and many of them could only blush and look down at their work, embarrassed that they had once doubted her.
However, things were not easy for Merrique – no knight would take her on as a squire, citing that she was too small, and female. With the help of Sheila, who was now married to an apprentice smith, she was able to dress herself up as a lad in hopes to find a knight that would allow her to be their squire.
“Merri, are you sure about this?” Sheila asked, holding the girl’s long hair in one hand and a pair of sheers in the other.
“I know many men in Qeynos have very long and braided hair,” Merrique replied, “but it will be much easier if my hair is short like a man’s should be. Now, cut it off!”
Andrew stood across from them, silently watching as the older sister began to trim away the long hair. He was deep in thought when he realized that Sheila kept looking at him while she worked – soon he was able to understand why, as it became apparent that the woman was cutting Merrique’s hair in a style similar to his own.
He was quite upset by the entire situation. Two days ago, one of the knights of the Qeynos Guard had extended an invitation for him to become one of his squires, all the while ignoring Merrique’s presence. When Andrew did finally ask if he would consider taking the young woman on as well, the knight had replied that she was too small to be a squire, and that he would not have a ‘twig of a boy’ let alone a woman as his squire.
Though civil while the knight was before them, the rage that Merrique entered after he had left had lead to where they were now – she had decided that she would hide herself as a man, find a knight and be their squire, and after becoming a knight herself she would reveal that she was a woman.
“I don’t like this, Merri,” he sighed again, looking at her hair, wishing to himself that it were still long.
“You don’t have to like it, Andrew, you’re a squire now.” She retorted, “I don’t like it much either – you think with knowing someone like Sai Marca even existed these knights would be a bit kinder about accepting women as their squires.”
With a tsk, Andrew pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards her, giving her a slight glare as he looked down at her small form.
“Always you compare the world to the Sais, Merri. I know that they mean much to you, but to be honest few on Norrath even care for their stories now,” he growled, annoyed at himself for becoming so upset over something so mundane – it was just hair, after all.
At first, her expression was one of shock, as though he had hit her outside of sparing; it quickly faded to a withering glare of her own, the stubborn nature of the Ayr’Dal coming to the surface.
“Really, is that what you believe, Andrew?” she hissed. “Fine. Forget the hours we spent imagining we were Marca and her ranger. Forget how much we learned because we wanted to do the things they did. Forget that we were out to prove the world wrong, that there were still a few that could rise above the life they were given and be someone.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and stormed out of the house. Sheila looked at him with a shrug before she went back to cleaning up the tangles of hair that littered the floor.
Andrew did not see Merrique before he left, as she refused to be anywhere near him. When the sword of a bandit ran him through, his dying thought was of how he would never be able to apologize for being so careless…of how he really had been feeling that day.
She would not know of his passing for some time – his family had moved away, and she was busy training while she looked for someone to be her mentor; news traveled slowly, if at all, from the Thundermist Village to Qeynos. Merrique still hides as a man when she is to be interviewed by knights, using the name Drew and claiming her family dead – few aside from the Master-at-Arms know the truth about Drew, and he’s not telling anyone any time soon…
It is said that a man can change his stars…
…can one woman change hers…
Jonthan was a simple man, despite his sisters’ talents with magic; he himself was quite plain in comparison to the women in his family, but he preferred such things. Unlike his sisters, who served within the Temple of Life or within the walls of the Concordium, Jonthan was a simple groomsman.
While the stables made quite a bit of money from selling their steeds, those who tended to them would never see even a tenth of that profit. Feed, more steeds and mares for breeding, medicine when they were sick, adornments for the parade ponies – there were far to many things to be paid for, though much of the profit went to the stable owner’s lavish lifestyle.
Though he always wondered if he would be better off as a hand in a livery stable of some noble or rich merchant, Jonthan enjoyed the rare opportunities that came from working for a public stable. There were many up and coming merchants and adventurers that frequented the shop in South Qeynos, not only to purchase tack and steeds, but to learn more about the care of their horse; though not knowledgeable in many things, he loved being able to share the scant bit of insight he had with the younger generations of Qeynosians.
Eliza had been a member of a rather well off merchant house of Koada`Dal, however the extravagant lifestyle of her kin left her wanting. Expected to always be a prim and proper young lady, she quickly became board by life within the high-class society of Qeynos. After her father began plans for an arranged marriage, Eliza left her family home, using a magic charm to turn herself into a human.
Though it took quite some time, she was able to finish several odd jobs for the guards within Nettleville Hovel and purchase a small apartment for herself. She met Jonthan a few days later on Market Row, and the two shared a rather romantic evening at the Lion’s Mane Inn.
During their dinner, Jonthan spoke of his life as a groomsman at the stables, and Eliza found herself drawn to the simple world that he had created for himself. The country charm that the stable hand exuded was compelling, and she found herself surprisingly saddened when it came time for them to part.
Unfortunately, Jonthan was traditional in many ways she had not expected; as their dinners together grew more frequent, he pressed Eliza about meeting her family, and asking her father for permission to court her properly. For a number of weeks, she was able to avoid the discussion, but it was not long before Jonthan realized that she was keeping something from him.
Eventually, she was able to reveal to him her true heritage, and explain to him that her father would not allow them to see each other. Surprised, but no less in love, he agreed to forgo that particular formality, and the two began to court. By the next spring, they were married and sharing an apartment within Nettleville; a few months later they were blessed with their first child, Sheila.
Sheila was a quite child, taking great interest in her mother’s craft of tailoring. There were many questions within the Hovel about the child – it was nearly impossible to hide that she was Ayr’Dal, and soon Eliza and Jonthan found themselves confronted by one of the priests.
The priest was unforgiving of Eliza, as her father had long ago made quite the buzz about her absence, offering coin and other trinkets for the safe return of his daughter; though claiming purity to the last; the priest was lured by the promise of riches and betrayed the couple to her father.
At first, her family tried to forcibly bring her back to their home, which only resulted in the guards being summoned; as Eliza was well past the age considered too young to leave their parents home, her family and their assistants were removed from the premises and warned to not disrupt the peace in Nettleville with their petty arguments again.
Like any rich merchant, her father attempted to bribe Jonthan into leaving his daughter, hoping that such an event would force her home again. Much to his disappointment, Jonthan was not as greedy as the priest had been, and refused to sell his love even for platinum coins. Eliza was enraged by her father’s actions, and after a heated argument outside the southern gates, the couple have not been bothered – unable to accept a Human as a son-in-law, her father disowned her and even paid the scribes to remove his family’s name from her records.
Eliza no longer hid her heritage, though it took a number of month to explain to Sheila that the Koada`Dal was her mother. Their lives returned a more normal, though rather poor, situation; Jonthan continued to work for the stables, and Eliza took up a position as an assistant tailor for Selwyn in South Qeynos.
Six years later, the couple was blessed with a pair of twin girls – Ashlae and Malina – who were both very frail. Sheila had been rather weak as a toddler, but eventually she grew out of it, and though she was still quite frail physically, she was rarely ill after a time; Ashlae and Malina were always ill with something, or injured with broken bones and sprains. The pair was very much like their aunts had been as children, however they both lacked any talent to heal themselves or use magic to make their lives easier.
During Eliza’s third pregnancy ten years after their birth, Ashlae fell down the stairs and broke her neck, dying several days later. Malina seemed to go into a sort of mourning after the death of her sister, and refused to speak to anyone; their mother and father were beside themselves with grief, which began to cause complications with Eliza’s pregnancy.
The couple had been praying to Rodcet that their child would be a strong, healthy male who might someday take over for Jonthan at the stables, but when Eliza began an early labor, it was clear that any child they had now would not be healthy. During the night, on a dark, rare stormy day in winter, their fourth child was born – premature, they were thankful the babe had lived, but neither could hide their disappointment over the child’s gender.
Their fourth child was also a girl. Her name would be Merrique – a feminine form of the name they had chosen for what they had hoped would be their son.
Surprisingly, Malina scorned her younger sister, cursing her name violently whenever she saw the child. Twice Malina had tried to kill her baby sister, though whenever anyone tried to speak to her about the matter, she would return to her stony silence as though she had never broken it. Many priests believed her mad, and even Jonthan’s own sisters proclaimed that she had given herself over to the missing Vazaelle.
Always the benevolent young woman, Sheila quit her job in North Qeynos to care for her younger sisters. The first few years of Merrique’s life were rough, as one older sister continually cursed and belittled her while the other was kind and loving. Eliza tried her best to keep Merrique with her constantly, but the child’s curiosity was more trouble than it was worth when she took her to Selwyn’s little garden.
When she was very young, shortly after her third birthday, Merrique met Andrew – the young Human lad lived just a few doors away from the Mai`claire, and unlike most of the others in Qeynos who were wary of even Jonthan’s line of Mai`claire, his family was not. Though not an expected solution, their constant companionship and playtime at Andrew’s house kept Merrique safe from her sister.
It took two broken bones for Andrew to learn that he could not rough house with Merrique quite the way he could with the boys they sometimes played with. However, she insisted on playing swords with them, demanding the boys – who received formal training – teach her how to use them.
When she was seven, the two families held a small party to celebrate her birthday. Malina was surprisingly polite to her sister, and was content to linger at the edges of the guests, away from Merrique but not hiding at home. There were few gifts, but one was quite magical for the child.
Blushing, Andrew gave her a long, rectangular box with a bright red bow tying it shut; when she opened it, there was a blunted tin sword resting upon cream coloured tissue paper. Merrique gave the boy several kisses before standing up with the blade, testing it the way the boys had shown her.
Several days later, Jonthan found the children playing near the stables; most of them had hardened wood swords, but Merrique carried the shiny tin sword with her. To his surprise, she was able to keep up with the lads she fought with, though several times he watched a bruise blossom under their swords, reminding him how much like his sisters she truly was.
“Papa, papa! Look at me! Someday I won’t just pretend to be Sai Marca,” she shouted as they fought their way past the stables, “I will be just like her!”
The children loved to play a game of imagination, where some of them were the evil Vers while others were the noble Sais from the Age of Turmoil. Always, without question, Merrique was the Sai known as Marca Stormrider with Andrew playing the part of her ranger companion. While Jonthan found their excitement refreshing, he was always afraid that one day he would come home, and the girl would be broken badly with her dreams crushed beneath a life of suffering.
As he stood talking to the other hands, Merrique rushed up to him after slaying the evil Reflection, Andrew at her heels with a broad grin.
“Papa, do you think I can become a great knight like Sai Marca?” she asked, innocent eyes looking up at him.
The other stable hands laughed, giving Jonthan looks of sympathy, as they knew that even for a healthy child, such dreams were just that – dreams.
“The child of a stable hand – a Mai`claire at that? A knight? You might as well try to change the stars, lass!” one said, receiving a harsh kick from another for speaking before thinking.
“Is it true, papa? Or c an a man change his stars,” she asked, pausing for a breath before finishing, “or a woman, like me?”
Glaring once at his co-workers, Jonthan knelt to look at Merrique and Andrew. Both children were from very poor families, who had lived as simple men and women in Nettleville for generations – perhaps even longer than that, though few knew much about their family’s times before the cataclysms. Most of the children from their generations, though knowing an uneasy peace, would never become more than what their parents were before them.
Nodding, he simply said, “A man – or a woman, as it were – can do anything, if they put their minds to it.”
Smiling, Merrique raised her sword in a salute she’d learned watching the guards before she and Andrew ran back to their friends. The other hands were silent, watching Jonthan for a moment before one of them coughed and reminded them all that they were on the clock.
Seven Years Later
“Papa! I’ve done it! I’m allowed to be a Squire once I find a knight who will take me!”
Merrique ran up to the stables, wearing a sparkling suit of iron chainmail and the tunic that the Master-at-Arms had given her for proving her abilities to him. Her long hair was pulled back in a leather barrette, and where once there had been a simple tin sword was now a beautiful long sword.
He was proud of her, of course, still amazed that a woman so tiny and petite as his daughter had succeed in the tasks set out before her by the old dwarf. Several of the hands had been on duty the day she had asked if she could become like Sai Marca Stormrider, and many of them could only blush and look down at their work, embarrassed that they had once doubted her.
However, things were not easy for Merrique – no knight would take her on as a squire, citing that she was too small, and female. With the help of Sheila, who was now married to an apprentice smith, she was able to dress herself up as a lad in hopes to find a knight that would allow her to be their squire.
“Merri, are you sure about this?” Sheila asked, holding the girl’s long hair in one hand and a pair of sheers in the other.
“I know many men in Qeynos have very long and braided hair,” Merrique replied, “but it will be much easier if my hair is short like a man’s should be. Now, cut it off!”
Andrew stood across from them, silently watching as the older sister began to trim away the long hair. He was deep in thought when he realized that Sheila kept looking at him while she worked – soon he was able to understand why, as it became apparent that the woman was cutting Merrique’s hair in a style similar to his own.
He was quite upset by the entire situation. Two days ago, one of the knights of the Qeynos Guard had extended an invitation for him to become one of his squires, all the while ignoring Merrique’s presence. When Andrew did finally ask if he would consider taking the young woman on as well, the knight had replied that she was too small to be a squire, and that he would not have a ‘twig of a boy’ let alone a woman as his squire.
Though civil while the knight was before them, the rage that Merrique entered after he had left had lead to where they were now – she had decided that she would hide herself as a man, find a knight and be their squire, and after becoming a knight herself she would reveal that she was a woman.
“I don’t like this, Merri,” he sighed again, looking at her hair, wishing to himself that it were still long.
“You don’t have to like it, Andrew, you’re a squire now.” She retorted, “I don’t like it much either – you think with knowing someone like Sai Marca even existed these knights would be a bit kinder about accepting women as their squires.”
With a tsk, Andrew pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards her, giving her a slight glare as he looked down at her small form.
“Always you compare the world to the Sais, Merri. I know that they mean much to you, but to be honest few on Norrath even care for their stories now,” he growled, annoyed at himself for becoming so upset over something so mundane – it was just hair, after all.
At first, her expression was one of shock, as though he had hit her outside of sparing; it quickly faded to a withering glare of her own, the stubborn nature of the Ayr’Dal coming to the surface.
“Really, is that what you believe, Andrew?” she hissed. “Fine. Forget the hours we spent imagining we were Marca and her ranger. Forget how much we learned because we wanted to do the things they did. Forget that we were out to prove the world wrong, that there were still a few that could rise above the life they were given and be someone.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and stormed out of the house. Sheila looked at him with a shrug before she went back to cleaning up the tangles of hair that littered the floor.
Andrew did not see Merrique before he left, as she refused to be anywhere near him. When the sword of a bandit ran him through, his dying thought was of how he would never be able to apologize for being so careless…of how he really had been feeling that day.
She would not know of his passing for some time – his family had moved away, and she was busy training while she looked for someone to be her mentor; news traveled slowly, if at all, from the Thundermist Village to Qeynos. Merrique still hides as a man when she is to be interviewed by knights, using the name Drew and claiming her family dead – few aside from the Master-at-Arms know the truth about Drew, and he’s not telling anyone any time soon…
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