Transmutations

 

 

(( New to being posted, older chronologically ))

Leiral asked me to sleep with her. She was having nightmares too, after our trip. Thoughts of her brother, as I am having. Unlike me, she does not know if her brother is alive or dead. Her fear speaks through her dreams.

(( New to being posted, chronologically older. ))

The hand falls on my shoulder. It is very cool. The grip is very firm. There is an unpleasantly wet sound as the figure behind me shifts. The back of my neck prickles.

Ever since we went to that haunted castle in Silverpine... I can't sleep.

I didn't want to bring him with me.

(( A note of explaination: I had to post this, even though I am not caught up to this point in the story just yet... what happens when a Non-RPer encounters two RPers who continue to play along long past the point of reason? Read and see! All of the text from "Sephrroth" is rendered exactly as he typed it, with nothing removed or corrected. The only thing that we changed was to refuse to allow him to godmode us into being bitten, having our blood sucked, or being "punchis" the face, but instead redirected everything he did to the stairs. Enjoy! We certainly did! ))

Leiral and I were just shopping, really. We'd had a... well, a rather shocking, unpleasant experience earlier. Not so much as experience as... the thing we witnessed. We were browsing in a lighting goods shop when we heard this strangly thick voice behind us. It was as if someone were talking through a mouthful of phlegm, or maybe marbles.

"its the popo" it said.

The little pond was one of my favorite things about Sun Rock. From the first moment we had flown in and I’d seen the light dancing across it, and every morning when I awoke and made my way across the little bridge. It puzzled me, sometimes, that there was both a stepping-path and a bridge across it. Mostly, I ignored the stepping-path, turning my back to them to lean against the railing of the bridge and feel the morning around me.

The feel of a woman’s hand descending on my shoulder was a complete shock. I turned to see Braelyn – the woman Uzil had always described to me as the “insane elf bitch” – looking down at me down her patrician nose, lip slightly curled in distaste. There was something... dark about her. I couldn't put my finger on it. She made me uncomfortable, as though a shadow clung to her somehow.

I made my way slowly to the pond at the center of the village, my feet disappearing in the early morning groundmist until I stepped up onto the bridge. It was quiet, most of the merchants and other inhabitants didn't seem to be awake yet. I listened to the birds singing, and the insistent banging of a woodpecker. The sky was a study in peach and gold, what of it I could see above the rocks. I would have to see if I could find a perch to watch the sunrise from. The lilies bobbed gently, as a frog, startled by my shadow, hopped off of the bank.

I seated myself on the edge of the overlook and dangled my legs over it. I was looking over the little village as twilight painted it in shades of purple and orange, watching the light sparkle on the little pond, peering upwards as the stars began to dimly peek out.

The flightmaster looked me up and down skeptically, clearly not fond of the idea of an elf on one of his windriders, nor probably of a Troll and elf cuddling in public, but when his eye fell on my shiny insignia, he shrugged slightly. It clearly wasn't worth the hassle of arguing over it. Grumbling slightly, he handed Uzil the reins of a particularly husky looking wyvern. "Don't fall off," he growled.

Some time later, the Zeppelin churned to a stop, docking with a much sturdier tower, Orcs standing below. They eyed us suspiciously, and held out a demanding hand to me as we came down the spiraling ramp.

"Think they want papers, Nen. Just hand over, don't speak."