Post by gathera on Apr 12, 2009 2:11:05 GMT -5
// I would like to thank all those that have a part in the creation of “Doris”. Kiki, Snipes, Garistan, Reyne, Earalewiel, Isabella and a host of others. Thank you one and all for putting up with my weird and wacky ways. //
I stared down reverently at the small puppet. The soft radiance of the fireplace cast a multitude of shadows over the small female figure. The figurine was sombrely dressed in a curt close cut checker tunic of black and white. A tiny sad frown was accentuated by a solitary dazzling tear drop dangling at the corner of the marionettes eye. The reddish glow of the fire-light reflected off the teardrop spawning myriad of red hued tear drop reflections. I gently stroked the puppets jet black matted hair.
She glared back at me.
This was old magic, magic without the flash and dazzle so often seen in the practitioner of the arts these days. However the old ways have a certain subtle strength to them.
The mark of Doresain was not something lightly bestowed let alone requested. Dealing with such a powers always involved a modicum of risk. The vessel in my hands would serve to bind the conjured entity to my will. What better thing than a puppet after all. All that remained was the selection of a suitable physical form for the conjuration. It was an unpleasant decision to make. The choice of what or who would serve had given me several sleepless nights pondering. I had arrived at a consensus; one of those interminable bandits plaguing the roadways would suffice. Strangely it was a conversation in the market square that had crystallized the choice. It was a long winded diatribe on relative morals of actions. In the end the author tried to ascribing a certain balance in how things should be judged. Balance what a ludicrous simple-minded concept, as if one’s life could be described in any fashion as either fair or equitable. The one in the market place had also spoken both long and loudly of curses.
He had no clue.
Soon I would be required to select one to place the mark of Doresain upon. One could of course mitigate who the final selection should be. After many deliberations I had come to my final consensus. Firstly the individual should be someone who would not be missed. Secondly someone who’s lifestyle and deeds made them wholly deserving of the mark. One of those wretched bandits that often plague the roadways would suffice. Hardly an innocent victim but I still had trepidation over her final fate. I swept away the lingering doubts in my mind. Whoever it was that I selected she had made her choice as well. I had seen often the aftermath of such banditry. Penance then for her past sins. After all that badgering fool had droned on about perspective. Well this was mine.
I stared down reverently at the small puppet. The soft radiance of the fireplace cast a multitude of shadows over the small female figure. The figurine was sombrely dressed in a curt close cut checker tunic of black and white. A tiny sad frown was accentuated by a solitary dazzling tear drop dangling at the corner of the marionettes eye. The reddish glow of the fire-light reflected off the teardrop spawning myriad of red hued tear drop reflections. I gently stroked the puppets jet black matted hair.
She glared back at me.
This was old magic, magic without the flash and dazzle so often seen in the practitioner of the arts these days. However the old ways have a certain subtle strength to them.
The mark of Doresain was not something lightly bestowed let alone requested. Dealing with such a powers always involved a modicum of risk. The vessel in my hands would serve to bind the conjured entity to my will. What better thing than a puppet after all. All that remained was the selection of a suitable physical form for the conjuration. It was an unpleasant decision to make. The choice of what or who would serve had given me several sleepless nights pondering. I had arrived at a consensus; one of those interminable bandits plaguing the roadways would suffice. Strangely it was a conversation in the market square that had crystallized the choice. It was a long winded diatribe on relative morals of actions. In the end the author tried to ascribing a certain balance in how things should be judged. Balance what a ludicrous simple-minded concept, as if one’s life could be described in any fashion as either fair or equitable. The one in the market place had also spoken both long and loudly of curses.
He had no clue.
Soon I would be required to select one to place the mark of Doresain upon. One could of course mitigate who the final selection should be. After many deliberations I had come to my final consensus. Firstly the individual should be someone who would not be missed. Secondly someone who’s lifestyle and deeds made them wholly deserving of the mark. One of those wretched bandits that often plague the roadways would suffice. Hardly an innocent victim but I still had trepidation over her final fate. I swept away the lingering doubts in my mind. Whoever it was that I selected she had made her choice as well. I had seen often the aftermath of such banditry. Penance then for her past sins. After all that badgering fool had droned on about perspective. Well this was mine.