Haylin Amorine

[vercingettorix]

This is Haylin's history that I wrote out quite awhile ago. I wrote it in parts, and regrettably several have become lost but I have managed to recover the first two and so am posting them here. Ill post the others when I manage to recover or rewrite them.


Live Forever

Haylin sat in the chair and regarded the man across the table from him evenly, one hand resting on the silver handle of his cane, a companion which had become ever more present of late as age took its inevitable toll on his bones. The room was brightly lit, and tastefully decorated with two of Haylins attendants in waiting by the door. “So, you have acquired what I hired you to acquire then?” He asked the man calmly and directly. The young man across the table from him nodded. “Aye, that I have.”
“Let’s have a look then.” Haylin said, a faint trace of excitement creeping into his normally controlled voice. The young man shifted and pulled out from his bag a large rectangular object, carefully bundled in cloth. He set it on the table where it made a heavy thud, and slid it half way towards Haylin. The older gentlemen leaned forward with an eagerness that was barely contained and he reached to grasp it.
“Not so fast.” The young man spoke, and Haylin’s intense gaze broke from the bundle and fixed the man with a stare. Something in Haylin’s expression caused the younger man to recoil slightly in what could be best described as a look of surprise and fear.
“What is the problem?” Haylin asked succinctly. Whatever look had crossed Haylins face must have abated, as the young man regained his composure.
“A lot of people died for this.” He answered “A lot of my friends. Do you know what we had to go through to get this?”
“I am well aware of the purported danger.” Haylin answered calmly “That is why I hired you and your band in the first place. Acquiring this is what I paid you to do, and I recall very explicitly warning you of the dangers that you might face.”
The young mans face grew stern and he dragged the bundle back a little closer to him. “So that’s it then.” He countered “You don’t care about their loss? Or what their families will face now that they are gone?”
Haylin made a motion to one of his attendees who exited briefly and began bringing in chests. Once several had been brought in they were opened revealing that they were filled to the brim with gold and platinum coins. They glinted in the light of the room and the young man stared at the money in unconcealed anticipation.
“We had a deal.” Haylin answered staring at the man “ I hired you to face the danger which I warned you about. You accepted the job knowing not only the payment you would receive, but what the risks were involved. You…YOU chose to accept the job. Their deaths, while regrettable, are in no way my fault. The money you see here is a fraction of what you will receive if that turns out to be the genuine article. It will keep you, your children, and your grandchildren very comfortable until the end of their days. With that amount of money at your disposal, should you desire, you could finance a rescue operation to retrieve your fallen comrades yourself. Or you could donate it to their widows. Shall I have the money and everything else delivered to them?” Haylin concluded, leaning back and eyeing the man speculatively.
“Well, I..I mean I was just saying that, I mean we don’t need to go THAT far..” The man spoke.
“I see.” Haylin interrupted him “Spare me the feigned show of sanctimonious bereavement then. It will net you no more money, and in any case the point is moot. I have nothing else to give. You are quite literally taking everything I have, the money, the estate, the properties, and my business….everything. Now. Give me what I am paying you to give me.”
The young man nodded pushing the bundle all the way over to Haylin. With trembling hands the older man carefully unwrapped the bundle in front of him, revealing a large tome. It was bound in some dark leathery material with intricate swirling patterns traced on the cover which seemed to catch the eye and trap it, guiding ones gaze in an intricate and seemingly random journey.
“The grimoire of the mad lich Azmalax al Hibaan.” Haylin breathed, his eyes growing wide. The lights in the room flickered slightly and a slight chill seemed to creep into the air. The attendants and the young man glanced about apprehensively, but Haylin was oblivious, his attention locked by the book and its strangely designed cover. With one shaking finger Haylin traced the bizarre intricate designs on the cover and shuddered slightly, it was warm to the touch and seemed to pulse with its own inner life.
Live forever….
Haylin looked up, his hand still resting on the book and grinned. The young man shrank back into his chair staring at the thing Haylins hand rested on.
“Its all yours.” Haylin said, still smiling broadly. He then carefully wrapped the book up and slid it into his bag, which now contained everything he owned in the world.
“Enjoy it while you can.” He said, and then exited the room, and his home, for the last time.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin gazed down at the open grimoire before him. He had spent months desperately trying to decipher the arcane incantations it contained, feverishly burning the midnight oil while endlessly staring at the strange arcane glyphs and alchemical formulas. Now at last he felt he was ready to perform the least of the rituals the tome contained and his hands shook from both excitement and fear. The circle and its dizzying runes had been carefully etched onto the floor exactly as the grimoire demanded. He had painstakingly and with fanatic precision ground the skeletal bones he had acquired from Karie to a fine powder and added them to the mixture of dragons blood he had gotten from Janos. In the dim light of the room sweat beaded along his brow as he concentrated on adding the other minor ingredients listed in the formula, various rare herbs and minerals. When it was done Haylin sat down and stared at the small bottle with its dark fluid contents that he held in his hands. His whole future rested in it, he realized with a sudden dawning panic. What if it didn’t work? What if he failed to prepare it properly? What if the Mad Lich’s book was all a sick joke? He turned his gaze from the vial to the open tome. It sat there, the writing on its sickly yellowed pages looking like dark blood in the candle light of the room.
Live Forever....
Haylins resolve returned and he steeled himself, rising from his chair with effort as his old bones protested. Using his staff for support he walked over to the circle and carefully placed the bottle at the center of the incomprehensible pattern. He then stepped back and paused a moment before beginning his spell.
“Iux degan mortis..” he spoke the words aloud, weaving the proper somatic componet with his aged hands. Instantly a corner of the swirling circle seemed to light as if set ablaze with a green flame. The light raced along the curving lines and emblazoned the arcane sigils, racing torwards the center and the vial as Haylin continued casting the stone bones spell. The light reached its height exactly as he finished the spell, concentrated on the vial which exploded in a venomous green flare which lit up the whole room with its sickly glare. The vial continued to glow for a moment, seeming to suck the light from the rest of the circle before gradually subsiding into a radiance no greater then a torch. Haylin stopped and stared at the now glowing vial. It had worked. By all the gods it had worked! Quickly as he could Haylin moved over to the vial and picked it up hesitantly...fearing being burned. He had nothing to worry about he soon found, as it was cool to the touch. With shaking hands Haylin undid the stopper and closed his eyes as he poured the phosphorescent liquid down his throat. He stood there lost in the darkness of his own eyelids a moment, trying to sense a change in his body. Gradually he got an uncomfortable sensation as if his skin were being trod upon by a horde of tiny insects. Opening his eyes Haylin slowly looked at his hands. Eyes widening in horror and with mouth agape Haylin quickly looked up into the mirror. Seeing his image reflected there he let out a terrified shriek and staggered backwards as if to escape his own reflected image and the horror it portrayed, dropping the vial as he did so which shattered on the floor. He toppled over backwards, shutting his eyes tight to avoid seeing anymore. Lying on the floor he buried his face against the wall to stifle another scream as the feeling continued to spread throughout his body. Haylin knew what that feeling meant now, he had seen it. When he had looked at his hands and at the mirror he had seen that his skin had grown translucent, and the underlying muscles could be clearly seen shining through his flesh with a dull green light. Each fiber of his musculature was writhing and twisting, making him look like a horrid humanoid shaped mound of bloody green filamentous worms. Haylin lay clutching at the wall, shuddering in now silent horror as the feeling gradually abated. He lay there breathing heavily for what seemed like an eternity, too terrified to open his eyes or move, even long after the sensation ceased all together. At last, being unable to bear it any longer, Haylin slowly opened one eye and peeked with loathing at his hand. Nothing. All seemed normal, as if it had never happened at all. Haylin opened his other eye and sat up. Looking himself over carefully he could see no lasting damage. Indeed, he had been expecting the pain from the inevitable bad bruise from his fall, but he felt and looked fine. Staggering to his feet he walked carefully over to the mirror and peered at his own reflection. His old familiar face gazed back at him, sweaty but otherwise unremarkable. Haylin looked a moment longer however, carefully running his hand over his chin and cheeks. He looked a bit paler, but that was too be expected he supposed. He could swear, however, that there were fewer crows feet around his eyes, and that the lines in his face had softened somewhat. Haylin collapsed into the nearby chair and stared at the room in a daze. At last his sight rested on the tome, and a small smile spread across his face. The smile turned into a grin, the grin became a chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a full fledged laugh. Haylin laughed and laughed, eventually drifting off to sleep, still grinning in his slumber.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin crept slowly down the darkened mine corridor, leaning heavily on his staff for support. The uneven flooring was difficult for him to move across, and the cool damp air was wreaking havoc with his arthritis. The air was heavy and stale, reeking with the stench of goblin. Haylin detested the place, and he feared the goblins who infested the warrens like rats. He was compelled to come here however. Ever since he had wrested the ancient tome entitled the Path of the Dead from the lich in the High Forest he had spent days lost in studies of the tome, hoping to unlock its long forgotten secrets. Finally after months of constant intense research he had made a break through. He had been staggered by what he discovered. The laws and processes by which the dead were animated were laid bare. The tome detailed methods by which the dead could be animated with a simplicity that was almost beautiful. Its intuitive method made the traditional complex arcanists spells look like childs play in comparison. But Haylin had to know for sure, had to see for himself whether this method worked, or if it was yet another in a long series of disapointments. And so he had come to this long abandoned mine with its vicious and cruel inhabitants.
From somewhere up ahead Haylin heard a faint scuffling noise. His heart beat faster and perspiration broke out upon his brow. He squeezed himself up against the wall as flat as he could and listened. The noise persisted, and Haylin slowly crept foreward, sliding along the wall for concealment and support. As he came to the corner he peeked cautiously around. There in a small room stood a lone goblin sentry, one knobby little finger with its dirty nail digging in its green nose as it muttered incomprehensibly to itself. Haylin withdrew quickly and pressed his back against the wall, his breath coming faster. He sent his mind out into the darkness and made contact with Cane, bidding it to come foreward. The large bat came flying silently along the tunnel and landed clinging to the rock wall, regarding Haylin with its small dark shiny eyes.
"Kill it." Haylin whispered, and the large bat flared its leathery wings and took flight. Cane streaked around the corner, catching the goblin by surprise. It swung its crude morning star clumsily and Cane deftly flew underneath the weapons arc and sunk its sharp teeth into the goblins dirty throat. It gave a strangled cry as it clutched futily and the bat, falling backwards as a jet of arterial blood sprayed into the air. Haylin gripped the wall behind him, terrified other goblins would have heard the dying cry and would be coming to investigate. Cane released its grip from the now dead goblin and flew to the darkened passage opposite the one Haylin cowered in, clinging to the ceiling. After a minute, Haylin felt the bats empathic signal that the corridor was clear. Leaning on his staff for support Haylin slowly made his way to the corpse of the goblin. He stood over it, watching the the now sluggish stream of its blood spill from its torn neck to pool upon the rocky floor. This was the moment of truth, the moment he would truly see if the secrets the Path of the Dead held were true and valid. This moment was the reason he had endured the fear and pain of this fetid hole in the ground. Extending one wrinkled and slightly trembling hand over the goblins corpse, he concentrated and and channeled the force of negative energy into the goblins dead body exactly as the ancient tome said to. The goblins body suddenly jerked spasmodically, and the lids slowly rose revealing dull lifeless eyes. Haylin's own eyes widened as he watched, riveted and unable to look away. Slowly the goblin zombie rose to its feet, and Haylin staggered backwards, tripping painfully over loose rocks as he eyes were riveted by the abomination before him. The zombie stood there, and its jaw dropped slack as it issued a low moan from dead and ravaged vocal chords. Haylin broke out in a cold sweat as he looked at the thing before him which should not be, but was.
It worked! By all the gods it had-
Haylin's thoughts were interupted by Cane's urgent empathic warning that two goblins were approaching. In a panic, Haylin quickly prepared to cast an invisibility spell and make his escape. Suddenly he paused. A thin smile spread across his face as he turned his attention to the undead goblin before him.
"Two goblins are approaching from that corridor," he said to it "Deal with them."
As the zombie slowly turned and shambled off to meet its former tribe mates, Haylin looked on, a small smile of triumph playing upon his features.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin sat at his table laying his ever present staff by his side. After taking a moment to carefully arrange his instruments he regarded the specimen jars before him. Pulling one closer he held it up to the light to examine its ghoulish content. Floating in preservative was a pair of eyes, the same as all the other jars arranged before him. The time had come for yet another experiment, one crucial to his future success. It was imperative that he undertake this particular endeavor, but the cost of failure.....
Haylin shook his head briefly, it was best not to think of such outcomes. Opening the jar he carefully spilled the eyes it contained onto an examining tray before him. Picking up a pair of calipers he took prodigious measurements which he fastidiously recorded in his notes.
He had hired Willow to escort him to High Hold, knowing they would most likely be attacked by bandits en route. Her services were expensive, true, but more often then not she proved herself worth the expenditure. Haylin had been right about the inevitable bandit attack, indeed, he had planned his route to take him straight through their territory. Willow had dealt with the bandits with the customery competence which Haylin had come to rely upon. In the aftermath of the battle he had taken from their corpses what he felt was a fair trade for their attempt on his life.
It was this tribute which Haylin bent all his focus on. He measured and examined each pair of eyes meticulously, inevitably consigning them back to their specimen jars for either real or percieved imperfections. At last he settled upon a pair which he felt to be the most suitable. Haylin was surprised that they were from the half orc, and he checked and rechecked his measurements to be sure. Once he was certain he was correct, Haylin carefully washed the disembodied eyes to removed any traces of the preservative. They sat in the tray staring up at him, the moisture making them glisten slightly in the light of the room. Staring back at them, Haylin reached over to a small vial. He had prepared the potent pain killer in advance, and now was the time to use it. He drunk the contents down quickly, and returned his attention to the silently staring eyes with their optic nerves splayed out behind them like a ghoulish pony tail. He had to act quickly before the herbal mixture he just drank clouded his focus. Channeling the forces of negative energy as he had learned to do from the ancient Path of the Dead, Haylin funneled the energy into the eyes before him. The bloody optic nerves twitched and then thrashed about in the tray. Haylin stared at the eyes as they pushed themselves about on the examining table grimly. He could feel the numbness begin to set in, the drowsiness begin to overtake him. Haylin slipped his glasses off his face and laid them carefully aside. He stood up and gripped the edges of the table and slowly lowerd his face torwards the animated eyes. The eyes stopped their aimless tumbling as if sensing Haylins approach. The filamentous optic nerves stretched hungrily up at his face, straining to reach him. Haylin brought his face within their reach, gripping the edges of the table with whitened knuckles as the wet tendrils slid over his cheeks. The grotesquely quivering nerve and muscle fibers slid beneath Haylins eye lids, and then plunged into the space behind. His old mans body shook with revulsion at the unnatural invasion. The foreign eyes drove themselves into his head, and Haylin vomited as his knees gave out, toppling backwards onto the floor. The pain was overwhelming and his heels drummed against the ground while he writhed and gargled, his hands clawing at the floor as he desperately fought the urge to pluck the invading eyes from his head. For one brief insane moment Haylin saw the room through a red haze as if viewed from two pairs of eyes, but then there was a final flare of pain as the half orcs eyes succeeded in dislodging his own and settling into his eye sockets, first the left, then the right. Haylin lay there gasping as his own dying eyes slid down his cheeks, wet with his own blood tears. After a moment he crawled over to a chair, pulling himself into it. The last thing Haylin saw before losing conciousness was the room in perfect clarity.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin quietly took off his coat and hung it carefully from the peg on the wall. He then went on to slowly unbutton his shirt, his thin bony fingers taking slightly longer with them then younger ones might. Once he was done he folded his shirt carefully and laid it on his bed, turning to face his reflection in the mirror. Old. He was old. His impassive stare took in the wrinkled flesh and somewhat stooped posture betraying no emotion. When had this happend? How exactly had life passed him by? The passage of time had robbed him of his life....no...that was not quite right. Time had not stolen anything from him, he had simply let it pass him by. A thin smile of regret crossed his features as he took his seat in front of the mirror. The old man in the mirror mimiced his own movements as he dragged a small table over to him. Removing a cloth revealed some sharp bone needles and a bottle of some thick viscous fluid which seemed to stir slightly on its own accord. Laying at his feet was the Mad Lich's Grimoire, its sickly yellowed pages opened to diagrams of strange glyphs and incomprehensible arcane sigils. Haylin glanced at them a moment as he picked up one of the needles from the table. The sigils were well known to him, even if he did not completely understand them. He had spent long hours memorizing them. The needle he now held in his hand was bone, carved from the femur of a ghoul he had destroyed with the aid of Willow. Hesitating the briefest of moments, he dipped its sharp edge into the vial, its dark contents seeming to grapple the needle hungrily. It was a strange alchemical ink comprised of ghouls blood as well as some other rare reagents. Haylin had painstakingly followed the recipe for its creation from the book at his feet. Haylin paused just a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror. The old man there stared back at him with fevered eyes and a look of grim determination. He had let things pass by, that was true, but by all the gods he would have them back. Looking down at his left wrist, Haylin took the needle and pierced his own flesh, beginning to tattoo himself with the sigils he had committed to memory with hours of study. As the needle pierced his flesh for the first time, he felt a deep biting cold stab into him. Haylin gritted his teeth against the spreading pain and watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as the ink seemed to spread out under his skin of its own accord helping him form the necessary arcane glyphs. The moon rose high and then began to sink again as Haylin worked, suffered, sweated, and bled through the night tattooing up his arm across his chest, and finally back down the inside of his right arm. Somehow his determination carried him through the pain, and as the eastern horizon grew pink Haylin inked the last of the runes into his flesh at his right wrist. Collapsing back in the chair, the dark bloodied needle fell from his cramping hand to the floor. Lifting his head he gazed at himself in the mirror again. His red rimmed exhausted eyes took in his image. Ink and blood beaded upon his traumatized flesh as the piercing cold he felt caused his teeth to chatter involuntarily. Staggering to his feet, Haylin leaned on the chair a moment to steady himself. Slowly the chill began to abate as the runes he had carved into his own flesh ceased their own twisting and shifting and solidified. It was done, and now for the test...
Haylin formed a circle with his arms, clasping each wrist with its opposite hand. As he did so the runes touched, and completed a circle. Haylin gasped as once again pain raced across his body, following the path of the sigils. A red haze drowned his sight as the air seemed to tear in front of him. As it cleared he could make out a hunched form appearing. Its necrotic flesh and long black fingernails offended the eyes as its smell did the nose. Its mout opened revealing cracked yellowed teeth which were more fangs then anything else.
I ansssswer your sssummonss, massterrr.. it hissed and with its breath came the smell of the grave.

[vercingettorix]

Haylin grimaced slightly as he slowly decended the stairs. Leaning heavily against the walls for support he slowly made his way down the short span of stairs, his arthritic knees protesting every step. Somewhere in the back of his mind stirred the very small apprehension that if he should fall there would be no one to come to his aid. He had rented the house a few days ago for the privacy it afforded. An old farmhouse on the outskirts of Silverymoon which was seldom visited anymore. He had furthermore paid the owner of the land more then 4000 gold coins to be allowed to stay one week, more then enough for the landlords discretion, not that anyone was looking for him anyways. Haylin smiled thinly to himself as he thought that at least age had afforded himself a certain amount of anonymity. Few cared about the doings of an old man. Reaching the bottom of the stairs Haylin paused to shift his weight to the staff he was forced to carry about, or rather, was forced to carry him about. He looked about the basement calmly. This was where it would happen. The next ritual described in the Mad Lich's grimoire, it was by far the most complex one he had dared to undertake. Although his skill and knowledge of the arcane had grown, many of the concepts and spells in the grimoire continued to confound full understanding. Haylin did not really care though, he could live without enlightenment, as long as he could have rejuvination. He made his way over to where he had set up his preparations, leaning on his staff for support. A small cot of hay was set up, and next to it a table with a chest. Haylin carefull layed his staff aside and sat on the edge of the cot. His eyes fell on the Grimoire for a moment, and although no visible emotion crossed his face, a thin line of perspiration broke out on his brow. Tearing his gaze away from the strangly compelling book, he bagan to strip off his clothes. As he removed each article of clothing, he meticulously folded it and set it at the foot of the cot. When that was complete he struggled to his feet again and opened the small chest. The basement air was cold on his aged bare skin and he shivered slightly. With a trembling hand he slowly removed the chests contents. Long strips of linen smelling of exotic and profane perfumes, wrappings taken from an animated mummy by his own hand, with Willow's help. Along the entire length of the wrappings were the strange and partially incomprehensible magical runes copied from the grimoire, written in an ink brewed from elvish blood and vampiric ash. Haylin methodically began to wrap himself with the inscribed linens, taking great pains to not accidentally damage the already frayed material. He wrapped every inch of his exposed flesh, and when he was done he laid back on the straw cot. He couldnt see through the wrappings, and the only sound which came was that of his own ragged breath which seemed loud to his ears. The sickly perfume of the wrappings former occupent stung his nostrils and made breathing difficult. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment he hesitated, and while it was only briefly to him it seemed an eternity. Would this work? Had he prepared the wrappings correctly? What would happen if it failed? What would happen if it succeeded? His breathing became louder and he felt hot and stifled, as if he was suffocating. Steeling himself he raised his arms and brought them together in a circle, each hand clasping the opposite wrist, completeing the magical circle inscribed into his very flesh.
Pain...its a small word, just four letters long and yet it is meant to encompass the whole range of human suffering. Haylin fell through a void, lost at the extreme range of those four letters. The bottom had fallen out of the universe, and he plunged through darkness like a screaming comet of bright anguish. To his pain wracked and fevered senses it seemed to him as if he could glimpse dark halls through ornate archways, twisting staircases which crossed the space of his his decent at impossible angles, and impossible stone monoliths whose bizarre architecture denied his enflamed mind comprehension.
...In the dark passageway he could see the goblin. The spark of life had long left it and it shambled torwards him with a slow unsteady gate. Portions of its decayed flesh were absent, revealing bone. Its mouth fell open accusingly but no voice emerged, only a cascade of tiny wriggling white maggots. Haylin screamed and ran, running into a large half orc. The creatures eye sockets were empty, dark red holes which stared at Haylin without sight. It lunged for him screaming curses. Haylin fled again, all reason gone. He was a creature driven by pain and pure terror and then the drow was there. Its throat was neatly cut but did not bleed, for the thing had no more blood left to do so. It too clutched at Haylin from the darkness grabbing him by one wrist and pulling Haylin inexorably closer.
"You did this to me......."
"nononononononoNONONO!"
With Herculean effort Haylin tore himself free of the vengeful corpse and spiraled once more through darkness. Fleeing down passages he ran into the room, slamming the door behind him and shoving the small bed up against the door. The room seemed big, and fading daylight illuminated it in a pale yellow. The door handle turned and the door shook.
"Haylin? You in there, boy?"
All strength in his legs gave out and he slumped to his knees as the room seemed to grow and swell about him. His eyes were wide with a horror too great for one face to express. The door banged harder shoving the bed back an inch.
"Dont make me force this door open! You hear me?! Haylin!?"
A lifetime spent wounded. A lifetime spent obsessed with self preservation. A lifetime spent on repression and denial. A lifetime spent on nothing.
Through the haze of pain and terror something else began to grow..anger. It welled up from some hidden place and swept him away in a white hot rage. Behind that door was the reason for that lifetime. Behind that door was the source for all of it.
"HAYLIN!?" The door shuddered again with greater force and opened a fraction wider.
With the savage fury born from decades of repression Haylin grabbed at the door and threw it open.....
Somewhere he could hear a sound. It's faint familiarity pulled at the corners of his mind. It was constant and unending, but try as he might he couldn't quite grasp recognition. A puzzle. Concentrating, the sound began to grow louder. It was...was......screaming..
That lightning moment when conciousness wrests self realization from sleep flashed through Haylin's mind. The screaming was coming from him, from a throat grown hoarse from the act. He screamed as he tore up the staircase from the basement. He screamed as he broke through the door outside into a rainstorm. Rain fell in sheets from a black starless sky, the tatters from the wrappings blackened and in disarray. Slipping in the mud, Haylin fell to his hands and knees, his breath coming in ragged sobs as the weight of water coursed along his body dragging the bloodsoaked mummy wrappings down with it. Lightning flashed in the sky overhead and in the brief moment of illumination Haylin saw his bare hands against the dark ground. Eyes widening he gasped as he sat back on his knees and tore what little of the wrappings still remained from his body. Once more lightning coursed through the sky overhead, and in its light Haylin saw he had not been decieved. Gone was the aged flesh raveged by time, replaced by pale firm skin. Haylin got to his feet slowly, under his own power and unhindered by arthritis. As thunder pealed through the heavens he threw back his head and answered it with a scream of his own. This was not a scream of pain or terror however, this was the scream of a newborn...it was the scream of triumph.