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Come Dance With Me [Story]

Discussion in 'UO White Stag Inn' started by DrDolittle, Jan 5, 2003.

  1. DrDolittle

    DrDolittle Journeyman
    Stratics Veteran Stratics Legend

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    Come Dance With Me

    [Note: This story is not a "Dr. Dolittle story" and is very different from my usual stories. It was just an idea I had. Maybe you will like it, maybe not…/php-bin/shared/images/icons/wink.gif]


    Mord looked around searching for the source of the lovely music. His eyes came to rest on a young woman. Her hair was a golden-red cascade, her face was fair with smiling green eyes. A lovely gown accented her feminine charms. The woman seemed familiar but he could not remember from where he knew her. Mord’s eyes narrowed, puzzled that he would forget one so beautiful.

    "Come dance with me," the woman beckoned.

    Mord eagerly responded to her call. Few men would ignore a summons from a woman such as this.

    Mord took the woman into his arms and they danced to the music. Floating across the floor like a cloud. In the back of his mind, Mord wondered at his grace. If dancing skills were to be fairly judged then Mord would have been reckoned to possess three left feet. The usual two being insufficient to account for his clumsiness in that particular art.

    All too soon the music faded. Mord stood looking deep into those enchanting sea green eyes. The woman smiled again, placing her hand behind Mord’s head. Reaching up to kiss him.

    At that moment the veil lifted and recognition flooded in. Mord had killed this woman on the road between Britain and Yew. His third victim of the day. Her own damn fault for riding out alone. He remembered how he had laughed at her screams as his poisoned blade cut her down. He had quickly taken her pack and hidden away in the forest between the road and the mountains. Wary of patrolling guards or vigilantes.

    Before him, the woman’s face now began a transformation. The clear skin wrinkled and rotted away before Mord’s eyes. Her eyes were empty, blind holes and the hair a matted tangle of corruption.

    "You chose death for me," came the woman’s voice. "For you I choose…" A maggot worked it’s way out of the woman’s ruined mouth as she pulled him closer.

    Mord screamed pulling away. The arm, behind his head, broke away from the apparition and Mord stumbled, falling. Crying in terror as the creature bent over him.

    Mord awoke to the black night in the deep woods where he had made his hidden camp. "A dream, it was only a dream," he thought, shaking with reaction to the horror. He rose to stoke his fire. Putting on some water to boil for tea. "To hell with tea," he muttered a few seconds later. "I need something a lot stronger than tea."

    Mord opened his own pack looking for ale or liquor. Inside, he noticed the woman’s unopened pack. He lifted the flap and found a small picnic basked hidden behind some bandages. He knew that such items were rare and this one would likely fetch a hansom price. Mord smiled, forgetting the terrors of the dream as he opened the basket. Inside were bread and cheeses. Pies, sweet meats and drinks. A true feast.

    Tucked in one corner of the basket Mord found a small portrait. On the back of the picture were written the words ‘To Anna I give my soul". Mord turned the frame over. The painting was of a hansom young man. Mord’s eyes grew wide for the face was his own. "What black sorcery is this?" He threw the painting into the fire and fled into the darkness.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

    After hours of aimless walking Mord stumble onto a dilapidated shack in a small clearing. This puzzled Mord as he knew these woods well and recalled no building here. He opened the door. Inside stood an old woman stirring a bubbling brew in an iron cauldron over a fire.

    The hag looked up from her work. "Make up your mind," she snapped. "Either in or out."

    Mord stepped into the room closing what passed as a door behind him.

    "What do you want?" The old woman eyed him closely.

    "I don’t know for sure," said Mord. "Something is wrong and I need to find out what it is."

    "You want your fortune told?"

    Mord nodded.

    "That will be ten sovereigns," stated the hag. "In advance," she added when Mord made no move.

    Mord counted ten golden coins into a small pouch and handed it to the woman.

    The woman hefted the bag, which then disappeared as if by magic. She nodded towards a small table flanked by two rickety chairs in a shadowed corner. On the table was a crystal sphere, glowing softly in the gloom. Mord sat in one chair, the hag took the other.

    The old woman reached out, taking Mord’s hands. She closed her eyes and began chanting a low, whispered mantra. After a moment she opened her eyes and stared hard into the crystal ball.

    "I see… death… murder… I see," a cry escaped her lips and she stood breaking the contact with Mord, sending her chair falling over behind her. She stood, staring at Mord, an unreadable expression on her wrinkled face.

    "What? What did you see?" Demanded Mord.

    "I saw the fate which you have created for yourself," spat the woman. The bag of gold struck Mord in the chest falling to the floor, coins tinkling. "I don’t want your blood money," said the woman. "Take it and leave."

    This insolent one must die! Mord stood, reaching for his weapon but stopped at the half contempt half pitying look in the hags eyes. Mord picked up his pouch and walked away into the night. He walked for many more miles before collapsing into an exhausted stupor.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Mord looked around searching for the source of the lovely music, a since of deja vu washed over him. His eyes came to rest on a young woman. Her hair was a golden-red cascade, her face was fair with smiling green eyes. A lovely gown accented her feminine charms. The woman seemed familiar but he could not remember from where he knew her. Mord’s eyes narrowed, puzzled that he would forget one so beautiful.

    "Come dance with me," the woman beckoned.

    Although filled with a nameless dread, Mord responded to her call. Unable to ignore her summons.

    The woman took Mord into her arms and they danced to the music. Floating across the floor like a cloud. In the back of his mind, Mord wondered at his grace. If dancing skills were to be fairly judged then Mord would have been reckoned to possess three left feet. The usual two being insufficient to account for his clumsiness in that particular art.

    All too soon the music faded. Mord stood trying his best to look away from those enchanting sea green eyes. The woman smiled again, placing her hand behind Mord’s head. Reaching up to kiss him.

    At that moment the veil lifted and recognition flooded in. Mord had killed this woman on the road between Britain and Yew. His third victim of the day. Her own damn fault for riding out alone. He remembered how he had laughed at her screams as his poisoned blade cut her down. He had quickly taken her pack and hidden away in the forest between the road and the mountains. Wary of patrolling guards or vigilantes.

    Before him, the woman’s face now began a transformation. The clear skin wrinkled and rotted away before Mord’s eyes. Her eyes were empty, blind holes and the hair a matted tangle of corruption.

    "You chose death for me," came the woman’s voice. "For you I choose eternal life," she whispered as her ruined lips touched his.

    Mord screamed pulling away as maggots bit into his flesh. The arm, behind his head, broke away from the apparition and Mord stumbled, falling. Crying in terror as the creature bent over him.

    Mord awoke to the black night in the deep woods where he had made his hidden camp. "A dream, it was only a dream," he thought, shaking with reaction to the horror. He rose to stoke his fire but there was something wrong. He felt strange, clumsy. By the fire’s light he saw that his hands were a hideous, corrupted green. He fumbled in his pack, pulling out a small mirror. The face that stared back at him was that of a rotting zombie.

    Mord tried to scream but all that came out was an inarticulate moan. He stumbled off into the darkness trying to flee the horror that consumed his mind. As the sun rose Mord turned at an evil laugh.

    "Welcome brother," said the lich. It’s laugh cut off as it moved to attack a warrior who had just ridden into the clearing.

    The warrior’s gleaming silver blade cut the lich down with a few swift sure strokes. The warrior turned towards Mord.

    "A damn zombie," the warrior spat as he moved towards Mord.

    Mord held up his arms in protest. In two strokes the warrior had severed the arms. He swung again. Mord saw alternating sky and grass as his head rolled across the ground. Coming to rest against a tree. With a final blow the warrior severed the legs and the rotting torso fell to the ground.

    "Damn zombies," the warrior spat again as he cleaned his blade and then rode off into the woods.

    Mord stared at his twitching limbs a few yards away. The true horror dawned upon him. He had been given eternal life. He would remain like this… forever. Mord opened his mouth to scream, but not even a moan came out this time…

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------
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