The Tale of Isabelle Mezistikan

[whitepawn01]

"The young man looked out to where the fierce desert sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, the dust of the windblown plains tainting it a vivid orange red and making him think of blood. Blood he could still taste, still see on his hands, still feel in a part of him he could never point to and show anybody. The raiders had come in the night, massacring all who resisted - women, children, the old, the weak... all died as equals, at least, in a frenzy of violence that lasted barely the half-turn of an hourglass. He'd survived the slaughter concealed beneath the dead body of his older brother, his eyes closed tightly to avoid the unseeing gaze, and the surprised expression on his brother's face. The memory made his stomach clench, and he rolled over just enough to wretch over the side of the wagon as it clattered down the Golden Way.

The caravan stretched back almost half a mile - hundreds of wagons, laden with spice, silk, and all of the treasures of the empire of Kara-Tur. A veritable army of guards rode on camels, milling in and out of the column, peering cautiously to all sides and ahead to the scouts for any sign of trouble. The great Road stretched out in front of the caravan as far as they eye could follow, and the young man knew that several weeks of hard travel awaited the merchants from Amn - a place that was his destination and, though he did not yet know it, his destiny..."

[whitepawn01]

"The old man looked out at an alien sunset, struck by a sudden surge of memory and a longing for his forsaken home. He could never go back there now; even if he could make the journey, aged as he was, what would his child and grand-daughter do? What would he do, for that matter? Being the only survivor of the massacre of a fairly insignificant peasant village would mean little except that he had been too cowardly to die as a warrior, to commit Hari-Kari as he should have done on finding himself alone and clanless. Maybe they were right. He had tried, but he had not been strong enough, not had the resolve... he could have spared his family the shame of living amongst these western barbarians, and left their souls drifting blisfully amongst the Spirit Tide.

A strange sensation suddenly gripped his heart, not the ache of old memories remembered anew, but a stabbing pain that seemed to wash everything else away in an instant. He fell to his knees, grunting, struggling to draw breath... so this was it, then. All he could think of was that he would die the death of a peasant on some barbarian farm thousands upon thousands of miles from the comforting call of the Spirit Tide... No.

No, he thought, with sudden resolve, it would not end this way. Summoning all his willpower and trying to calm his failing heart, he breathed slowly, until he was shakily able to stand. He staggered from the porch into the dining room, and sinking to his knees once more, crawled to the Spirit Shrine he had made, unblessed by the Gods, tainted from the start by dishonour, but the closest link he had to home. His fading sight fell on the familiar gleam of his dai-katana, still marked with his clan's crest, sitting in its place of pride. He reached out, and his limp hands felt strong on its hilt, moulded to its unyielding hardness, hard as he had to be; would be, in death if not in life.

The young girl, barely five years old, heard a cry that was both pained and triumphant... she dropped the wood she had been gathering and ran to the house, calling her grandfather's name.

"Ojiisan, ojiisan! Grandfather, are you allright?"

She rushed into the dining room, and began to scream, her screams drawing her father who fought back tears as he had been taught men must, covering her eyes and taking her away from the scene of her grandfather's final victory, the redemption he could never achieve in life."

[whitepawn01]

"The girl knelt in front of her father's open coffin, a single tear running down the left side of her face. The moist salty taste of the tear as it reached her lips was nothing compared to the biterness she could already taste in her mouth... she whispered the prayers to Selune as she had been taught, but nothing could bring him back. The temple was quiet, it's vaulted arches and ceilings making her feel small and insignificant, the empty stone tiers watching on in a silent mockery that mimicked the funeral ceremony some hour before. Then, as now, the temple had stood devoid of mourners, only herself and Jacen, the priest of Selune, there to bear witness to her father's final rites. Once, turning away from the coffin to look at something else, anything, she thought she saw a woman sitting at the back of the temple, but when she looked back a few minutes later there was no-one.

Ever since the death of her grandfather seven years ago her father had become a heavy drinker, always staggering home late at night with strange men who smelt of whisky and cast looks at her that made her nervous. She always went to her room until they were gone, leaving her father to sleep off his stupor. As they had left him now - where were all her father's friends when he needed them to be there the most? Where was anybody? Her grandfather had been respected, made a name for himself in the town... something her father had managed to demolish in a matter of weeks.

She was so lost in her thoughts of anguish and grief that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, wasn't even aware of another presence until a hand touched her shoulder. She twisted, startled, a movement that brought her to kneel in front of Jacen, the local priest of Selune.

"It is allright, my child. He's in a better place now." Jacen spoke with kind tones that were meant to soothe her - he'd always been kind to her, ever since grandfather's death.

She said nothing, fixing him with a stare she knew he didn't deserve, desperately trying to find a focus for her emotions - the aging priest just nodded, understandingly.

"Death comes to all of us, in time, child. But now, the question of what to do with you?"

She shrugged forlornly, not really caring, and hearing something in the old man's voice that triggered a strange reaction in her stomach, something reflexive, instinctual, warning of danger.

"I think it is best if you come and stay with me for awhile, Isabelle. Better than one of those orphanages in the city, to be sure."

He smiled again, a flash of lightning outside casting an eerie light on his features, making the smile seem sinister, predatory. He stood between her and the doors, and her eyes darted wildly as she looked for some other means of escape.

"Isabelle, child, what is wrong?" Jacen leaned forward, kneeling so that he stood just barely taller than her and placing hands that were surprisingly strong for his age on her shoulders. She looked into his eyes and could not understand what she saw - sadness, guilt... and desire. "Come, my dear Isabelle, and be comforted."

The lightning flashed again, and from outside the temple, none heard her scream."

[whitepawn01]

"Two years and six months after her Father's funeral, she stood once again in the Church of Selune, at another funeral. The Church was packed full to bursting on the hot Amnish summer's evening, to mourn the death of Jacen, the local priest of Selune. They filed past the coffin to pay their respects, extending their sincerest condolences to Isabelle, his ward. She had taken his death harder than anybody... all the townsfolk spoke of was the way she had grown into a beautiful young woman under his care; at nearly fifteen she cut a radiant figure, even in her mourning black, face streaked with tears. She wore a beladonna lily in her hair, its color a stark contrast to the sombre darkness of her dress and veil.

Isabelle smiled slightly underneath the veil. Jacen had died in his sleep, they said; he was an old man, close to sixty, and while all were sad to hear of his death, none were surprised. Neither were any inclined to examine him, not that they would have found much. Not unless they were to kiss him, would they taste the fast disappearing traces of the deadly belladonna extract... his death had appeared peaceful, stoic, but that was only because of the rapid paralysis inflicted as the poison coursed through his veins. Isabelle had known he had suffered, she had watched his eyes roll, agonized in his head as he took hours to reach his painful end, fully conscious.

Jacen had abused her throughout the two years she had lived with him, warning her when he did so that she had nowhere else to turn. All the while she was with him, she nursed her bitterness about her father's death, and the pain and humiliation his abuse had caused her... confused and overwhelmed by the pain and bitterness she felt, she prayed to Selune, but heard nothing. Then one day, instead of the empty nothingness, she heard a whispering voice, barely a murmur; a dark voice speaking straight into the bitterness that consumed her soul. She felt the touch of mistress Shar."

[whitepawn01]

"The soapy water swirled around in the washbasin, as smooth delicate hands gently and diligently scrubbed at the dirty plates and mugs. Isabelle gazed distractedly at the way that some of the stains, no matter how hard she scrubbed, never lifted. She turned suddenly, plate in hands, as she heard a yell from out in the bar.

"Isabelle, you slovenly girl! How many times have I told you to get that cleaning done *quickly*?!"

She winced as the bartender and owner of the Dancing Rothe, Jon, strode through the door.

"What is the matter with you, girl? Can't you even clean a plate properly?"

She bit her lip to hold back already welling tears, crying out with fright despite herself as he slammed the door behind him, moving closer, menacing. In his hand he carried a belt of cured leather hide - Isabelle knew its bite from painful experience. He raised the belt above his head, paused a moment, and then brought the belt down.

***

Marie, waitress at the tavern, flinched as she heard the girl cry out and a plate shattering on the floor, quickly followed by the sharp crack of Jon's leather belt. She forced herself to focus on the drink she was pouring, hands shaking slightly.

***

Isabelle looked up at Jon, and he returned her gaze, both of them panting in silence for a moment before he spoke, the belt mark on the bench next to her all but forgotten as he whispered huskily.

"Isabelle... I need you."

She barely nodded before he was kissing her passionately as she fumbled with buckles and buttons, sitting herself on the bench as she murmured his name.

***

She sat up and hopped off the bench, rearranging and smoothing her skirts as he hurriedly dressed himself. He didn't look at her as he pulled his trousers back on, mumbling something that sounded like: "Thank you, that was nice." She tilted her head slightly and looked at him, her voice still quavering with emotion and passion.

"Jon, when are you going to tell Elizabeth about us?"

He stiffened slightly, before continuing to do up his buttons.

"There is no us, Isabelle, you know that. And don't you ever mention her name to me again, you hear me?"

This time it was her turn to look away, face blushing furious red as she turned her eyes to the ground at her feet. His expression softened a little, and he did up the last button, reaching over to stroke her cheek gently.

"Belle, look at me. I'm sorry, but I can't give you what you want from me. I have a wife and children, who I love very much. I would never put them through such suffering as the truth would cause them."

He turned and moved to leave, placing his hand on the doorknob. She spoke again, this time something in her tone that stopped him in his tracks, something that didn't sound like it belonged to a girl nearly 16 years of age.

"I'm leaving. To go to Purskul."

He turned, incredulous.

"Why would you do that, Belle? You've got nobody else left, and besides, you'd need money to survive. You don't have that kind of coin."

"My reasons are my own, and money won't be a problem. I need you to give me a thousand gold coins by the end of the week."

His eyes widened and small muscles near his left eye twitched as he clenched his jaw reflexively.

"Isabelle, I don't have that kind of money just lying around. And even if I did I wouldn't give it to you so you can go chasing figments."

She looked into his eyes, a small smile playing about her full red lips.

"Then I'll have to tell Elizabeth about your infidelity. My conscience can't bear it any longer."

He made a choked sound in his throat as though suppressing a roar, and took one step forward before sagging, shaking with helpless rage.

"You bitch. You little bitch. Fine. I'll have the money by the end of the week. But after that I want you out of my house, out of my inn, out of my life... and if you so much as think about saying anything to Elizabeth, Selune help me I'll kill you myself."

He turned back to the door and left the room, slamming it behind him, leaving Isabelle alone in the kitchen."

[starofthewest]

"The sun shone high and bright in the sky, the sweltering heat enveloping the village in a shimmering haze of warmth and moisture that made walking feel like swimming. The common room of the Dancing Rothe was all but empty of patrons... a few of the local drunks sat and slumped at the bar, semi-conscious though it was barely past noon.

Belle moved quickly between the tables, picking up empty and half empty mugs, plates, and giving each a hurried wipedown with the cloth she carried. She glanced at Jon, trying to be discreet... he was still looking at her, his slightly bloodshot eyes and the dark rings beneath them betraying sleepless nights, and the symptoms of sampling more than a little of his own ale.

His gaze was one of pure, undisguised hatred. He'd been in a foul mood all day, and all the waitresses scurried to try and placate him to avoid his temper. He noticed her scrutiny and sneered, belching loudly before placing an empty whiskey bottle back underneath the bar.

"Isabelle! Get down to the wine cellar and fetch me another bottle of Watderdhavian!" She heard the dangerous edge in his voice, and hesitated.

"NOW!" He roared, banging his fist on the table. She looked down, rushing past him, wincing reflexively as she opened the door to the cellar and began down the steps. She was in such a hurry to avoid his displeasure that she didn't hear the door shut behind her after a few moments, or the bolt slide as Jon descended the steps in her wake."

[starofthewest]

"She tried to run back up the stairs, but he backhanded her, the force of the strike sending her tumbling back into the bottleshelves... glass shattered, and she slumped to the floor, looking up at him with shock and hatred, bleeding in a few places where the glass had cut her.

"Sweet Lady Selune..." The militiaman glanced to his fellows, all of them staring, equally shocked, at the scene before them. Jon, the barkeep and proprieter of the Dancing Rothe, lay on the ground, and he was about as dead as it was possible to be. Not a good death. He winced.

The thick, dull sound of his own fists was all that could be heard... he had only meant to scare her, convince her not to tell Elizabeth... but now he had begun all of his anger, all of his frustration, all of his drunkness and lust poured out in a frenzy of blows that just kept coming... she'd stopped whimpering a while ago, and he finally ceased, panting, bending down to check and see if she was still breathing.

The girl... now that was something that made his stomach really turn. Battered and bruised, she looked as though she'd been beaten to within an inch of her life. She was covered head to toe in blood... his and her own. Self defense... maybe... but the militiaman had seen his share of fights and wounds, and there were far too many for Jon to have suffered in the course of a scuffle.

Isabelle screamed, a sound of pain and triumph as she brought the thick shard of glass up into his waist... the shard cut deep, severing the femoral artery, and he fell back without resistance, like a felled tree. She crawled onto his prone form and stabbed the shard down again, again, again, holding it with both hands, for what seemed like forever. She fell to one side, her strength spent, and curled up in a ball crying until the militiamen broke down the door, alerted to the sounds of violence by the other serving girls.

He shook his head.

"Take her into custody. We'll keep her at the barracks cells until we can figure out what the hell happened here."