Post by gathera on Dec 21, 2016 20:12:02 GMT -5
The cold rain drizzled down as I sat huddled beneath the old oak. I pressed myself firmly against the gnarled tree trunk in a futile attempt to escape the deluge of wet. Already my hands ached from the bleak damp Cormyrian weather. My useless frost ravaged hands; fingers contorting talon-like in response to the elements. I sat silently both cradling and silently cursing my rheumatic hands.
“Hello, “How are you faring today?”
Slowly I lifted my head upwards tilting it towards the friendly voice ringing out. It was my dear friend Smit the merchant from the Cornucopia come to call on me. Clad in his distinctive gold and emerald garb, Smit always bore such a warm glowing grin. I could even hear that golden smile shine in his voic, even on this wretched night.
“Ah Master Smit, today has been good, better than yesterday anyway.”
Smit seemed puzzled with my reply as he knelt closer to me, “Did something good happen today, or did something bad happen yesterday?”
“Yesterday was worse master Smit, Today is better, even with all the rain. Yesterday was just… well it was frustrating.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather I leave it alone?”
I slowly angled my head facing towards Smit. “Do you ever missing something master Smit? Miss something so badly that it hurts?
Smit drew silent, only the steady patter of the rain filled the night with sound. Frustrated I slammed the knuckles of my right hand hard against the dirt. A painful grunt slipped out between my teeth for my efforts. It was foolish angry and a painful display. Only the rains soft drizzle replied to my outburst. After a time the ever careful Smit knelt a little closer to me.
“I think we all must experience that at one point or another. Have you been missing something so much that it's difficult to come to terms?”
“Yes I suppose so master Smit, but those feelings are something I would not wish on any. I am just a weaver who cannot weave master Smit. Blind is, well I can deal with that but… My shoulders slumped as my voice trailed off in resigned dismay.
“Was yesterday the day the weaver ceased to weave?”
My head bowed shook out a small no. “No … no It has been weeks now, my hands have been like this ever since Denney found me.”
“What was different between yesterday and today, then?”
“Useless hands, master Smit useless hands.”
I glared at my hands, staring hard at their twisted and gnarled shape. A seething cold fury gripped me as I struggled to move my stiff numb fingers in the simplest of motions. I tilted my head backwards and bit back a silent scream of rage. I felt it so keenly, that longing desire to create to craft to manifest the magic within. A tangible ache every moment of the day I was unable to manifest the craft. It was the anguish that was the well-spring that built my black rage. I craved to just reach the magic bubbling just beneath the surface if only for an instant, the briefest of moments. I was gripped by a ravenous insatiable hunger to once more work the weave. My head slipped downward as waves of black despair swept over me.
Smit discretely reached out and with a reverent touch clasped my left hand in his. I could feel all my frustration and anger melt away like the snowflakes on my face. Sighing I turned my face towards Smit with a soft smile. The warmth of Smit’s hands soothed the aches of my hands and my heart.
“Is this not the hand that offered alms for the survivors of Hilp? Hardly useless, I would say. Or maybe it was your other hand...”
“What coins I had master Smit would only slip through these hands anyway. You are too kind. You care too much, far too much master Smit.”
Smit squeezed my hand warmly then tenderly nestled it back in my lap covering my hands with my shawl. “If you feel I should care a bit less, I am prepared to consider your wisdom...”
A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. Such simple kindness as Smit had given me had no place in my lady’s world. In her crystal cold world simple compassions were anathema scorned mocked and derided. What could I say to him? I knew how this would end, how it must end. I steadied myself with a long deep breath.
“This will not end well for you master Smit. Of the entire village you have been.... You have been here for me always.” I knew Smit didn’t believe me as Smit clasped my hands in his.
“I think you brought that on yourself. You referred to me as "sweet" once. No one has ever done that. I think that's what caused this soft spot I otherwise can't seem to explain.”
That sweet sincere voice, so trusting so warm, I clasped Smit’s hand tightly. “Yes but you don’t know truly know her. “My voice cracked with raw emotion. I knew what I must say, say the words before I couldn’t. “You should leave me master Smit. Leave me and never look back. This will not end well.”
“Are you foreseeing my demise for wishing to help you?”
“No ... No not that, not your… demise. I will hurt you one day master Smit wound you to the core and well I don’t want that day to come. But come it will.”
“Let’s consider that even if I do as you suggest, that doesn't prevent something else from coming along and hurting me anyway.”
My head slumped down my hands slipped back into my lap
“So if I accept I could be hurt no matter what course of action I take, I would rather take the one I felt was true to my nature. And something in my nature wants to make sure you're looked after.”
I raised my head towards Smit. “You are too good for this world master Smit.”
“I am sure you know that I think you're exaggerating. Others likely feel as I do about you.”
“Perhaps like you say things will be different.”
Smit voice brightened up “Like Mister Marister for example.” Once more Smit gathered my hands in his.
“I can't help but feel that you're going through something and that you will eventually get through to the other side of it, and that no matter what lays on that other side, you and whoever has kept you company throughout will be better off for it somehow. And if I turn out to be wrong, then I can be glad for the journey having happened, rather than sad that it ended - maybe badly.”
“I don’t deserve someone like you master Smit.“
I stared thoughtfully ahead letting the words sink in. Then with a brief nod “To the journey then Master Smit, where ever it may lead … where ever it may lead.”
With a laugh Smit broke the tension “It feels like we should have drinks to toast with, right now.”
I slipped my hands out of his and reached for my clay bowl. Raising it carefully as not to spill the collected rain water I lifted up my clay bowl. “Cheers then, may we prove fates wrong.”
“Bottoms up! Even if they are right, if fate is set and cannot be unset, what point in fretting what has been decreed and cannot be denied? We have the time between now and then to live as we choose. And you already know the choices I make here and now.”
I turned once more to Smit favouring him with a soft smile trembling I drew Smit closer tenderly kissed the top his head. “May the fates be wrong. One last journey this night master Smit. See me to my fire?” I slowly rose my joints painfully cracking with the cold. I thought; to the journey then, to the journey.
Based on in game events My thanks for FriendlyLee for permission to use the conversation in this story
“Hello, “How are you faring today?”
Slowly I lifted my head upwards tilting it towards the friendly voice ringing out. It was my dear friend Smit the merchant from the Cornucopia come to call on me. Clad in his distinctive gold and emerald garb, Smit always bore such a warm glowing grin. I could even hear that golden smile shine in his voic, even on this wretched night.
“Ah Master Smit, today has been good, better than yesterday anyway.”
Smit seemed puzzled with my reply as he knelt closer to me, “Did something good happen today, or did something bad happen yesterday?”
“Yesterday was worse master Smit, Today is better, even with all the rain. Yesterday was just… well it was frustrating.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather I leave it alone?”
I slowly angled my head facing towards Smit. “Do you ever missing something master Smit? Miss something so badly that it hurts?
Smit drew silent, only the steady patter of the rain filled the night with sound. Frustrated I slammed the knuckles of my right hand hard against the dirt. A painful grunt slipped out between my teeth for my efforts. It was foolish angry and a painful display. Only the rains soft drizzle replied to my outburst. After a time the ever careful Smit knelt a little closer to me.
“I think we all must experience that at one point or another. Have you been missing something so much that it's difficult to come to terms?”
“Yes I suppose so master Smit, but those feelings are something I would not wish on any. I am just a weaver who cannot weave master Smit. Blind is, well I can deal with that but… My shoulders slumped as my voice trailed off in resigned dismay.
“Was yesterday the day the weaver ceased to weave?”
My head bowed shook out a small no. “No … no It has been weeks now, my hands have been like this ever since Denney found me.”
“What was different between yesterday and today, then?”
“Useless hands, master Smit useless hands.”
I glared at my hands, staring hard at their twisted and gnarled shape. A seething cold fury gripped me as I struggled to move my stiff numb fingers in the simplest of motions. I tilted my head backwards and bit back a silent scream of rage. I felt it so keenly, that longing desire to create to craft to manifest the magic within. A tangible ache every moment of the day I was unable to manifest the craft. It was the anguish that was the well-spring that built my black rage. I craved to just reach the magic bubbling just beneath the surface if only for an instant, the briefest of moments. I was gripped by a ravenous insatiable hunger to once more work the weave. My head slipped downward as waves of black despair swept over me.
Smit discretely reached out and with a reverent touch clasped my left hand in his. I could feel all my frustration and anger melt away like the snowflakes on my face. Sighing I turned my face towards Smit with a soft smile. The warmth of Smit’s hands soothed the aches of my hands and my heart.
“Is this not the hand that offered alms for the survivors of Hilp? Hardly useless, I would say. Or maybe it was your other hand...”
“What coins I had master Smit would only slip through these hands anyway. You are too kind. You care too much, far too much master Smit.”
Smit squeezed my hand warmly then tenderly nestled it back in my lap covering my hands with my shawl. “If you feel I should care a bit less, I am prepared to consider your wisdom...”
A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. Such simple kindness as Smit had given me had no place in my lady’s world. In her crystal cold world simple compassions were anathema scorned mocked and derided. What could I say to him? I knew how this would end, how it must end. I steadied myself with a long deep breath.
“This will not end well for you master Smit. Of the entire village you have been.... You have been here for me always.” I knew Smit didn’t believe me as Smit clasped my hands in his.
“I think you brought that on yourself. You referred to me as "sweet" once. No one has ever done that. I think that's what caused this soft spot I otherwise can't seem to explain.”
That sweet sincere voice, so trusting so warm, I clasped Smit’s hand tightly. “Yes but you don’t know truly know her. “My voice cracked with raw emotion. I knew what I must say, say the words before I couldn’t. “You should leave me master Smit. Leave me and never look back. This will not end well.”
“Are you foreseeing my demise for wishing to help you?”
“No ... No not that, not your… demise. I will hurt you one day master Smit wound you to the core and well I don’t want that day to come. But come it will.”
“Let’s consider that even if I do as you suggest, that doesn't prevent something else from coming along and hurting me anyway.”
My head slumped down my hands slipped back into my lap
“So if I accept I could be hurt no matter what course of action I take, I would rather take the one I felt was true to my nature. And something in my nature wants to make sure you're looked after.”
I raised my head towards Smit. “You are too good for this world master Smit.”
“I am sure you know that I think you're exaggerating. Others likely feel as I do about you.”
“Perhaps like you say things will be different.”
Smit voice brightened up “Like Mister Marister for example.” Once more Smit gathered my hands in his.
“I can't help but feel that you're going through something and that you will eventually get through to the other side of it, and that no matter what lays on that other side, you and whoever has kept you company throughout will be better off for it somehow. And if I turn out to be wrong, then I can be glad for the journey having happened, rather than sad that it ended - maybe badly.”
“I don’t deserve someone like you master Smit.“
I stared thoughtfully ahead letting the words sink in. Then with a brief nod “To the journey then Master Smit, where ever it may lead … where ever it may lead.”
With a laugh Smit broke the tension “It feels like we should have drinks to toast with, right now.”
I slipped my hands out of his and reached for my clay bowl. Raising it carefully as not to spill the collected rain water I lifted up my clay bowl. “Cheers then, may we prove fates wrong.”
“Bottoms up! Even if they are right, if fate is set and cannot be unset, what point in fretting what has been decreed and cannot be denied? We have the time between now and then to live as we choose. And you already know the choices I make here and now.”
I turned once more to Smit favouring him with a soft smile trembling I drew Smit closer tenderly kissed the top his head. “May the fates be wrong. One last journey this night master Smit. See me to my fire?” I slowly rose my joints painfully cracking with the cold. I thought; to the journey then, to the journey.
Based on in game events My thanks for FriendlyLee for permission to use the conversation in this story