Post by abagail on May 26, 2006 21:28:46 GMT -5
Tapenga (tah-'PENG-ah)
TN, f, he, Wiz
The Mistress slapped Tapenga's knuckles sharply with her teacher's stick...once again.
"No no no no no. You aren't listening, as usual. How do you ever expect to master the craft of magic with such clumsy fingers, honestly..."
Tapenga sucked on her fingers, refusing to let the tears well up. Fortunately, the Mistress overlooked the seething malice in Tapenga's gaze, as she tended to look through her students, rather then in their eyes. The girl's Mother and Father, wealthy aristocrats of Waterdeep, had brought the whelp to her to learn the arcane arts, as well as the basics of working the mysteries of the weave into inanimate objects. It probably wasn't likely in their plans for the girl to use her gifts for the betterment of fair folk, and more likely they wanted a crafter in the family to increase their profits. However, with as much money as they were paying her, she didn't have any problem turning a blind eye.
"Now then," said the Mistress, "once again. We have taken the object and revealed its magical power. Once we have isolated its properties, what spell do we use to determine what reagents we need to duplicate it?"
Tapenga muttered something unintelligible.
"What was that, puppet?"
Tapenga looked at her feet.
Taking the girl's hand firmly, the Mistress whipped Tapenda's knuckles so harshly as to draw blood, and for the last time. Tapenga looked at the beading droplet of crimson, rolling down to the first knuckle of her middle finger, her green irises flashing starkly in the dim candlelight. Inside her blouse, she fingered the handle of her Mother's kitchen knife with her other hand, forged by dwarves, and razor sharp. With a quick tug she pulled free of the Mistress's grasp. The old woman's brow knotted with anger, and she raised her teacher's stick for a blow that would have surely knocked the fourteen summers old girl to her knees, never seeing the glint of metal in her hands bearing straight for her heart.
"I HATE YOU!" screamed Tapenga, plunging the knife point first between the Mistress's ribs, piercing the tender chambered walls of her heart.
The old woman's body slumped in her chair with a wide eyed look of shock she would carry with her into the cold embrace of Toril's soil. Her mouth dropped open as if to speak, but only the dim rattle of death's reaping escaped. Tapenga watched closely, her gaze never leaving the Mistress's eyes, savouring every moment as the life drain away, and the fire of life's light perished forever. She pulled the instrument from the corpse and stood, hovering, putting the blade to her tongue, tasting the iron rich ichor that clung to its metal.
"Now that's ever so much better," said Tapenga, mocking the voice of her former teacher, "do be a dear and give my regards to Beshaba, won't you, Puppet." She descended into a fit of giggling.
The creaking sound of grinding metal roused Tapenga from her euphoria, and she whirled, clumsily dropping her knife, which skittered under the table. What appeared to be an ordinary suit of armor stood just inside the doorway, its empty helm creaking as it turned its eyeless gaze toward the young half elven girl. She had been taught well enough to recognize there was no Knight inside the burnished plates, rather, it was magical creation, a helmed horror, created by Wizards as servants and protectors. It was on her in three strides, raising its rusty blade high for a killing stroke. Lacking her weapon, she reached out blindly, snatching the teacher's wand from her dead grasp, holding it up between her and the monstrosity in a feeble gesture of warding. Eyes closed, she awaited the finality of her horrific act, and deep inside her the voice of guilt spoke, though lost in the howlings of fear. A matter of seconds passed by like a lifetime, and Tapenga slowly peeked up to see the sword frozen above her. Tentatively, she raised to her feet, watching the Construct closely, expecting at any moment for it to come to life once more and finish her. Then slowly, she inched her way past and backed into the doorway. With one last gleeful giggle she turned and ran down a flight of stairs, out the front door, and disappeared into the night...
TN, f, he, Wiz
The Mistress slapped Tapenga's knuckles sharply with her teacher's stick...once again.
"No no no no no. You aren't listening, as usual. How do you ever expect to master the craft of magic with such clumsy fingers, honestly..."
Tapenga sucked on her fingers, refusing to let the tears well up. Fortunately, the Mistress overlooked the seething malice in Tapenga's gaze, as she tended to look through her students, rather then in their eyes. The girl's Mother and Father, wealthy aristocrats of Waterdeep, had brought the whelp to her to learn the arcane arts, as well as the basics of working the mysteries of the weave into inanimate objects. It probably wasn't likely in their plans for the girl to use her gifts for the betterment of fair folk, and more likely they wanted a crafter in the family to increase their profits. However, with as much money as they were paying her, she didn't have any problem turning a blind eye.
"Now then," said the Mistress, "once again. We have taken the object and revealed its magical power. Once we have isolated its properties, what spell do we use to determine what reagents we need to duplicate it?"
Tapenga muttered something unintelligible.
"What was that, puppet?"
Tapenga looked at her feet.
Taking the girl's hand firmly, the Mistress whipped Tapenda's knuckles so harshly as to draw blood, and for the last time. Tapenga looked at the beading droplet of crimson, rolling down to the first knuckle of her middle finger, her green irises flashing starkly in the dim candlelight. Inside her blouse, she fingered the handle of her Mother's kitchen knife with her other hand, forged by dwarves, and razor sharp. With a quick tug she pulled free of the Mistress's grasp. The old woman's brow knotted with anger, and she raised her teacher's stick for a blow that would have surely knocked the fourteen summers old girl to her knees, never seeing the glint of metal in her hands bearing straight for her heart.
"I HATE YOU!" screamed Tapenga, plunging the knife point first between the Mistress's ribs, piercing the tender chambered walls of her heart.
The old woman's body slumped in her chair with a wide eyed look of shock she would carry with her into the cold embrace of Toril's soil. Her mouth dropped open as if to speak, but only the dim rattle of death's reaping escaped. Tapenga watched closely, her gaze never leaving the Mistress's eyes, savouring every moment as the life drain away, and the fire of life's light perished forever. She pulled the instrument from the corpse and stood, hovering, putting the blade to her tongue, tasting the iron rich ichor that clung to its metal.
"Now that's ever so much better," said Tapenga, mocking the voice of her former teacher, "do be a dear and give my regards to Beshaba, won't you, Puppet." She descended into a fit of giggling.
The creaking sound of grinding metal roused Tapenga from her euphoria, and she whirled, clumsily dropping her knife, which skittered under the table. What appeared to be an ordinary suit of armor stood just inside the doorway, its empty helm creaking as it turned its eyeless gaze toward the young half elven girl. She had been taught well enough to recognize there was no Knight inside the burnished plates, rather, it was magical creation, a helmed horror, created by Wizards as servants and protectors. It was on her in three strides, raising its rusty blade high for a killing stroke. Lacking her weapon, she reached out blindly, snatching the teacher's wand from her dead grasp, holding it up between her and the monstrosity in a feeble gesture of warding. Eyes closed, she awaited the finality of her horrific act, and deep inside her the voice of guilt spoke, though lost in the howlings of fear. A matter of seconds passed by like a lifetime, and Tapenga slowly peeked up to see the sword frozen above her. Tentatively, she raised to her feet, watching the Construct closely, expecting at any moment for it to come to life once more and finish her. Then slowly, she inched her way past and backed into the doorway. With one last gleeful giggle she turned and ran down a flight of stairs, out the front door, and disappeared into the night...