CV's homilies

Yomud, we all miss the big jerk, ups and downs, bluster and all that goes with it.  We don't know exactly why he left, but I fear it's his health. 

Chapter Two


He broke the seals of the pack that the boy had brought quickly. For time was not his ally today. The first glint of hardwood and burnished steel brought back a flood of memories..long thought forgotten. Of days in the Iron hills and the Spine of the Dragon. And that sorrowful day when seven of his friends had fallen in the burning sands of the Cauldron.

It had only been a young thief, a middle aged battle cleric and he, that had crawled back up those towering cliffs. The countless dead and dying hoards of their opponents littered the floor below. And each of them had borne great wounds that had taken much of the cleric’s skills. Just to see them make the climb.

The boy thief had lost a thumb and two fingers. And that would slow his pick pocketing surely. He had thought then. He smiled gently to remember that later…it hadn’t slowed the lad at all. The Cleric had been rent in the left shoulder so deeply, by a partially blocked great ax, that even the best of healers would still not be able to save his arm. But the loss of his hammer arm would not slow him down in the years to come.


And the gash that the stranger had suffered. Had taken his own eye. And while now healed. Was a stark remainder of the most minor of his wounds. For the wound to his heart for the loss of his followers was still ,even now, sometimes to great to bear.

For many years the drink and the women had dulled his pain…but never removed it.

And then had come the bitter blow of betrayal and rejection. Conflict and banishment. Jailings and whippings like a common gutter drunk by city guardsmen. Who had never even know who he was. Or what he and his friends had accomplished in over 20 years of adventure and soldiering.

All these he remembered in the flash of moment as he looked into the pack.

But…there was no time.

Twin throwing ax’s belted with a 20 inch dirk to his waist. The Blackened blade of a great sword hanging from an old and worn leather loop..his back. Pommel dull and unadorned. Less one small ruby near the top. The ornate leather scabbard was left behind.

Strapped on his right thigh, a quiver of arrows over thirty inches in length. Whose bright steel heads had never lost their luster..even after all these years. And in his left hand…the heartwood bow as tall as himself. Fabled it was said and witched. So that given the right hands it could fire the shafts 200 bow lengths and more. So quickly..that the rain of death was never even seen. He sighed in regret. As the helm and shield and spear were now lost.

But that is another tale.

Last was the cloak. Solid black. Dull. Worn near the edges. The old sigil of his company, now long ripped away from the left breast. But the clasp still shown brightly. Solid silver, frosty with a rainbow glitter. A dragon rampart. The colors, even in the gloom of the smith, still twinkled brightly. Ah love, he thought sadly. Today…you shall have your payment.

These things, now in hand, he strode through the door.
                    
***

The morning was dawning bright and the smell from the west gave evidence to his route of march. Quiet the square as he strode towards the bridge. Even the dogs had fled.

But not old granny Borina.


'Well Granny.' he quipped. 'Don’t you believe it’s time for you to be down the road?'

The reply was as swift as the sudden lark over head. 'Mind your manners you pup.' 'The gods have told granny there is no haste.' 'A warrior, now old and forgotten. Has come to see that her skirts be not singed.'

'That can’t be you can it pup?'


‘Well perhaps. And perhaps not granny.' 'We shall have to wait and see.' he answered with a smile. The gapped tooth grin was immediate from the old woman. 'In thirty years, good and bad, drunk or sober, victor or loser, ye have not changed a bit.’ she cackled.

But her tone then grew serious. 'The signs say if you cross that bridge you will not return on your own feet.'

A mist grew now in her eyes as her voice changed and she began to chant-sing. The song of the wise woman. In a voice that brought fairies to mind. A soft and yet beauteous voice. That once must have delighted in songs sung as a maid. And lulled babies on a breast to their sleep. As a woman full grown.

'You will be borne.' 'Upon the shoulders of those that come to late. As you were late once long ago' she sang. 'There will be some that still hate you. Unable to forgive. Even when you pay their price'. 'But others will remember'.

'But your bane is your bane. As it is for any man..who has come sliding forth from a woman.' her voice now returning to it’s normal gravelly tone.

'A boon then granny?. A sweet kiss to see me off' he grinned in reply. 'Be off you lout.' she laughed uproariously.


'Remember back to the oak when peril is great and sound your horn.' she admonished. 'Fair thee well then granny and sing for me sometimes.' he replied in return.


And as he strode forth up and unto the bridge. He never heard her call out quietly, 'May the Ancient One stand with you Lord Knight-Captain. And bring you home to your lady.'


And then he was gone from her sight.






Edited by Centrix Vigilis - 19-Nov-2014 at 03:45