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(Player Fiction) Embers of Magincia

Discussion in 'The Hooded Crow Inn [Fiction]' started by Bryelle Vaughn, Feb 22, 2011.

  1. Bryelle Vaughn

    Bryelle Vaughn Journeyman
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    There was something about hard work that she appreciated. It was honest and it was real. There were no shortcuts, no getting around it and it kept her mind occupied. Her deep brown ponytail swung to the side as she let the hammer fall against the steel. Her other hand braced across the top of the Kryss to keep it from slipping she put her full weight, all 98 pounds of her, behind each blow. With every ting that echoed off the moist stone walls another inch of metal was forged into place.

    Beyond the Smithing structure lay Umbra. Cold and constantly overcast it lacked the one thing she truly craved more than the sweat of her own brow and the ache in her back. It lacked sunlight. Closing her eyes if only for a moment she drifted back. Nineteen years faded into the dim light of the candles and embers of her forge.

    Back through the dank and overflowing selection of orphanages she drifted. Back further past the Demons blocking out every last shred of what she could see of her island. And finally back to a run through a tiny strip of grass, where a three year old Lynne basked in the rays that were so plentiful. Legs rounded by mounds of baby fat hopped haphazardly across the blades of green. There was laughter, smiles and above all...There were her parents.
     
  2. Bryelle Vaughn

    Bryelle Vaughn Journeyman
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    One would think that Umbra, with its seeping and obvious underbelly held the greatest amount of ghosts. This would be a gross underestimation of the soul. For nothing holds a spectre quite like the memory one carries around within. Quietly, the transparent figures lurk just behind the walls we all try so hard to keep in tact. It is when your breathing shallows and your attention is trained elsewhere that the battlements you enacted so difficultly fall sway to these figures. Over run in a manner of minutes by these personal “ghosts” even the most stoic of men are easy pickings.

    Lynne wasn't the most stoic of men..or women for that matter. So when the floodgates were removed it was virtually impossible to stop the raging tide of thoughts that tethered her to Magincia. Unable to continue her toil over the anvil, motionless and still she remained.

    What was the name of the ship that took her away?

    The Abandoned Wind.

    The name came so easily. Silently she answered her own question. As surely as it rolled unbidden in her mouth so did the image of the Captain and crew. Captain Melvin Petise had looked down on her only once. Dropping the hammer, Lynne put a hand to her chest and slid it protectively up her throat as the sting of hoarseness cascaded in on her. Her miniature self had screamed what seemed like days but was in fact a matter of hours. Drooping with every second of expended futile energy she beat against the rails of the vessel. That was until a pudgy yet firm hand took hold of her chin and tilted it upward. Blocked out by tears she remembered only the words he used.

    Tears will do you no good, little one. Life is ever harsh. Get used to it.

    Had it not been for one of his deckhands calling his name, Lynne would never have known who he was. He wore no differentiating tunics or overcoats that she could recall. And her recollection, given the circumstances, was good. So very good. If only the time beyond came as easily to her mind..
     
  3. Bryelle Vaughn

    Bryelle Vaughn Journeyman
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    Emma Jean hated Trinsic. She hated the bright beige walkways and the luxurious gardens. "It's a knock-off of Nu'Jelm," she thought with a smirk. For that matter...she hated Nu'Jelm too. Any place with that much sunlight just had to be wrong.

    Every last one of those beliefs made Umbra pretty much the perfect place for her. Always overcast always relatively cool it always suited her rather tempered physical demeanor. The city of Necromancy, there was a constant string of dead and undead coming and going across the Shadow stones. That fact suited every other demeanor she could possibly dream of. With her Jet black hair with jade green highlights "normal", at least by popular standards, she was not. In Britain, Her coal black eyes and her deep green skirt would stick out like a Balron in a Harpy cave. But In Umbra, she was just one of the many.

    Having taken off -again- at the crack of morning, Emma Jean had wandered the city for hours. Markos and Isaac had shooed her from the Inn at least half a dozen times already. Ever since the last time when they caught her squatting upstairs and accumulating a 637 gold piece tab under someone else's name, they were loathe to let her set foot inside their establishment.

    Sherwood at the Jewelry store didn't care for her much either. That wasn't so much in what he said as the way he looked at her. Heavily slitted eyes, he haunted her moves with detailed precision taking stock of her hand placement, her leg angle and even the way she breathed. The man was just creepy. She knew he thought she was going to take something and that sent a thrill straight to her spine. The adrenaline that came with being suspected of something. She would laugh if it wasn't for that rush because the bronze truth was she was a **** poor thief.

    She had just come out of his shop though when she spotted a familiar deep brown ponytail swinging wildly down the back of a pale yellow dress. Gagging in an exaggerated violent manner at the color of the cloth she wretched loud enough to get the figures attention.
     
  4. Bryelle Vaughn

    Bryelle Vaughn Journeyman
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    “You really should remove what's lodged in your throat,” she called over her shoulder.

    “It looks like a canary threw up on you.”

    Straightening herself to an upright position, she tossed her deep brown ponytail over her shoulder and levelled her eyes that mirrored the locks in color on the dark figure opposite her. “This is an interesting description considering you look as though Magincian Grass rejected you and spit you back into the abyss.”

    Lynne watched as Emma started to reach for the green tinges in her hair and stopped herself. The slightest hint of frustration edged the girls mouth. “Have you tired of harassing all the people who actually work for a living, Emma?”

    “I never tire of that.” A cat that got the cream grin spread across the young woman's face erasing the previous emotion. Quietly she took a step toward Lynne, her hands wringing together behind her slim back. “What If I told you that home was a possibility?” Baring a bit of teeth now she stopped a mere few paces from where Lynne stood.

    “You have a home, Emma. Goddess knows we all wish you would visit it more often.”

    “Not MY home you ore ruffle. YOUR home.”

    She heard the words but was not quite sure they were sinking in. Emma had a big mouth and tended to shoot it off frequently. In contrast to Lynne's reserved demeanor the two worked as well together as ale and lemon juice.

    “It's being rebuilt you know.”

    Lynne would come to regret the dumb look on her face at that moment. Emma would make sure of it.