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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 6, 2008 23:12:01 GMT -5
[That's cool. You're doing a really good job. I enjoy reading your posts and responding to them. ] Wraith sighs, somewhere between despondency and contentment. Here was a basher who understood the blackness in her own heart... it's highest peaks, it's deepest valleys, and the featureless flatlands in between. How the crushing sorrow - in recent weeks, turning to Apathy - could reach up and snare you when you weren't looking, and drag you down into the mire. Ever had her music been her solace in a world of sorrow, death and pain, where no one cared for their fellow bashers; save for how they could be used in the rat race to the top. She looks deep into Hilathic's lurid red eyes - delving deeper still - and a faint smile of recognition illuminates her wan features. She'd never heard of the bashers he spoke of - and she'd dedicated much of her life to the study of philosophy and religion; indeed, it was one of her strengths, the vast amount of knowledge she carried around in her brainbox. But in the end, she doubted it mattered much. They touted all the same screed about the multiverse. But maybe it wasn't screed? How may times in recent weeks had she been forced to stop and re-evaluate her life, her existence, and it's so-called "accomplishments"? "Too many times, basher." She mumbles to no one in particular, and breaks eye-contact with Hilathic. She massages her fingers into her temples, feeling a sharp stab there, a persistent ache even. "I must have a migraine coming on." She sighs, and resumes restlessly scratching the same spot on the table top. It was a pointless effort, but it kept her mind busy... and away from the blackness waiting in the depths of her mind for her. "Music has been a... a large part of my life as well, basher. It's helped me to... to find some solace amidst the death and madness." There is more she could add to this, more she wants to say. That much is apparent in her softer voice and the dull silver cast to her eyes. But she closes her mouth with a sharp click, and heaves a restless sigh. Even if she did open up to yet another sod off the street, would it matter much in the end? It wouldn't change the past, or the future for that matter. Things had happened, likely as they should've happened, because they molded her into the musician and mortician that she is today.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 7, 2008 3:15:07 GMT -5
"I know not the men, or the books of those you speak, and I've dedicated much of my existence to the study of lyric, medicine, music and philosophy, but... but here's something I found only recently you should consider." She adds at length, and bends to retrieve her pack from the floor. Rummaging through it's congtents - a little less well organised than in previous months - her search produces what was once a book.
Only now it is in a sad condition indeed. The leather cover is torn and blackened, and most of the discoloured pages are ripped, or have been burned to ash. It seems that someone put it to the torch, though only the Powers would know why, as books were such a precious commodity; and the means to discovering Truth.
"I found this a while ago. I'm not sure when exactly, only that I was trudging through the Hive one night, down Whisper Way I think, when I found this protruding from a puddle of water." Carefully she flicks through the pages - several begin to disintegrate in her hands, but she doesn't notice - and stops at the marked paragraphs.
"It's... it's a rather bleak passage, basher, but I think, Ironically, you might appreciate it. What remains of it, anyway." Taking a deep breath, Wraith begins to read the passage; though softly enough that she doesn't awaken her son, and no one else but Hilathic and Ahinabura overhear her.
"Everything dies. Everything decays to dust and falls into ruin. Great empires fall, corroded from within by greed, destroyed without by the ravages of time and war. Youth and beauty fade with age, as Death unveils Herself to us in our sleep. Strength belies weaknesses that will soon consume us. Love begets hate when bitter, barbed resentments and petty jealousies ruin even the purest of hearts. Try as we might, though surely we strive in vain, nothing can stop the corrosion of our souls. What then of Virtue you ask, if Virtue is all we have? No Virtue exists in a cage ruled by indifference, where crime and cruelty prevail. The worst of those crimes being committed by supposed men of faith and valor. Men who, with Virtue on their side, commit ungodly atrocities, yet escape unscathed. Atrocities that..."
Wraith hesitates, scanning the burned page before her. A good portion of the text was burned; a shame really, because the anonymous author made a good point here. Underlying the daily grind was a cesspit of corruption; only in Sigil's case, that cesspit had burst forth as the pustule dubbed "the Hive".
"What then of Virtue and Valor, I repeat: There is no Virtue and Valor; only cowardice and deceit. For Purity is a falacy, a mask tro hide the deeper degeneration within us all. Mark my words and heed them well; nothing is ever what it seems to be. Our eyes, our limbs, our blood, our minds, our hearts, fail us. Our friends die or betray us. Family and paramours can't linger forever. And when they die, only the memories remain; until the memories fade to nothingness, leaving us truly alone within ourselves. Which brings me to this. Do the Gods even exist?..."
Again there's a break in the prose, and perhaps it was for the best, because it wasn't a line of thought Wraith even wanted to consider. If there were no Powers, then what of True Death and True Life? Shaking her head in denial of what these words suggested, Wraith presses onward.
"Meaning is found within and Beyond the nothingness of the Void. The Void that generated us. Genesis? Nothing lasts forever. Not love nor hate. Not Life and Breath. Not courage, passion and conviction, and certainly not the Soul. Not even the twisted morals and beliefs we cherish. In the end, everything crumbles and fades around us. In the end, darkness endures when the light has failed us. In the end, loneliness prevails whenh the love we once held dear has been betrayed by us. In the end there is no certainty but the certainty of Death. In the end what truth ia there but the Truth that All will come to an End? In the End, there is no multiversal Truth, but that which we began with... Nothing."
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Post by Stix on Apr 10, 2008 13:32:34 GMT -5
"Screed," Ahinabura says with a smile. "O' course the Powers exist; y' can plan a trip to go spit in one's eye if y' wanna die that way. An' that shite about no virtue in the Cage? In the last few hours ye've had yer son brought back to yeh, an' some naked sod peeled a few spivs who mighta stuck us on somebody's gables. Don' let an addle-coved Sinker with a pen ruin yer joys, that only proves 'em right; there's a reason that book was put to th' torch."
She clears her throat, looking aside to the collecting pool. "I don't make it ta this side o' the Cage often. Gonna have some bub, mebbe a bite, an' go see the Festhall." The Bleaker doesn't make it clear whether she's inviting everyone else or just thinking aloud, only scoots her chair across the tile and heads for the bar.
(I've accomplished everything I hoped to with this scene, but you may continue it for as long as you like.)
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 11, 2008 6:26:43 GMT -5
(I've accomplished everything I hoped to with this scene, but you may continue it for as long as you like.) [No worries. Thanks for resolving this slice of the story. I'm gonna set up something for later that night, and keep it open in case Hilathic wants to jump in. I think I'll also take your cue, and set up something in the Civic Festhall - or the Lazz School - too. ] Quietly, Wraith closes the charred remains of the book, and puts it back in her pack. She doesn't seem to notice or even care that a few more of the pages dissintegrate into ash beneath her touch. A Sinker wrote that... not surprising. She muses, and secures the straps once more. "Though I rescued the book from the mud, and read those horrible words out loud, it does not mean I believe them. How anyone could so avidly believe in nothing, yet still manage to exist, at least long enough to pen that, is beyond me. Yet there are, and always will be, many strange paradoxes in the multiverse." She frowns and scratches the back of her neck. "I know there's hope here, and charity and faith. It's these things that have brought us all together, spared my son from what would've been a horrible fate, and returned him to me once more. And for that, I am eternally grateful. It's a gesture of kindness I couldn't possibly repay..." She sighs, and reaches out to touch Aerin's face. "And you have my thanks - both of you - for what you've done for me."Watching the Bleaker woman depart, Wraith turns in her seat to face Hilathic. "I would suggest a nice stroll through an art gallery, or even an open air theatre, but I should get a bigger room, and get my son into a comfortable bed. After what happened, he's going to need his rest." As am I. She sighs wearily, and stifles a tired yawn. "Again, I'd like you to remain here for the night, and if it is your wish, I can help you find some more stable accomodation here, even if it is for a little while."
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Post by hilathic on Apr 13, 2008 21:31:13 GMT -5
"A place for the night would be welcome. I am fine in my home, for permanent living space. It's really not that bad. Plus in the morning there are things that need to be done. Things to be lanned. A night well rested will do me good." The boy had heard and seen enough horrors, Hilathic would not detail his plans for revenge while the boy might be listening. He quietly waited while Wraith made arrangements for the night.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 13, 2008 23:23:19 GMT -5
"A place for the night would be welcome. I am fine in my home, for permanent living space. It's really not that bad. Plus in the morning there are things that need to be done. Things to be lanned. A night well rested will do me good." The boy had heard and seen enough horrors, Hilathic would not detail his plans for revenge while the boy might be listening. He quietly waited while Wraith made arrangements for the night. Wraith nods, and sighs. "I think a good night's rest will do us all some good." She mutters, and rises from her chair. Stretching, and cracking her back, she bends down to kiss Aerin's forehead. "If you don't mind, basher, I'll leave Aerin in your care for a few moments, while I go make the necessary arrangements. He shouldn't awaken, and if he does, I'm not far away." She gestures at the bar. Taking her leave of Hilathic and her son, she wends her way toward the bar. " Excuse me, basher. I'm in need of a larger room for the eve, if you still have any vacant?" She asks of Bertram.
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Post by Stix on Apr 16, 2008 11:19:32 GMT -5
"The luxury suite is the only bigger vacancy, but it looks like you'll need the space. I'll cut the price in half if ya don't mind comin' down for your own meals. Seven gold pieces for the week." Bertram motions to the platter of breaded shrimp and fried potatoes with a red sauce that he's set out for himself, indicating that she can have a bite if she would like.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 20, 2008 22:36:59 GMT -5
" The luxury suite is the only bigger vacancy, but it looks like you'll need the space. I'll cut the price in half if ya don't mind comin' down for your own meals. Seven gold pieces for the week." Bertram motions to the platter of breaded shrimp and fried potatoes with a red sauce that he's set out for himself, indicating that she can have a bite if she would like. "Yes, that will be fine. Thankyou, Bertram." Uathach replies with a tired smile. She unties her purse strings, and passes the tarnished gold coins to him. Seeming uncertain for a moment, she accepts the bartender's offer, and samples some of the shrimp, dipped in the sauce. It was quite unlike anything she'd ever tasted before, delicately crumbed and fried until it was just right. Her faded eyes light up, and she nods in approval. "Now that is delicious, cutter. Thankyou." She smiles. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have any more of this, would you? Enough for two large servings maybe?"
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Post by Stix on Apr 25, 2008 4:48:39 GMT -5
"I'll see what I can scrounge up," Bertram says before excusing himself to the kitchen.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 28, 2008 21:18:50 GMT -5
" I'll see what I can scrounge up," Bertram says before excusing himself to the kitchen. "Thankyou, basher." Wraith says kindly, watching Bertram walk off, and takes a seat at the bar while she waits. Her eyes dart back to her corner table where Hilathic sits near her slumbering son. Thank Apollo the tormented child was still sleeping. Only the Powers knew what he'd endured...
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Post by hilathic on Apr 30, 2008 22:37:57 GMT -5
Hilathic plays a soft song while the child sleeps. Keeping it low so only him and child can hear the soft melody to help him sleep. Hilathic watches the boys even breaths at he inhales and exhales. He was never one for wanting children, not after where he was raised. Watching the boy lay there sleeping, he wondered how anyone could want to harm something so frail and innocent. Anger and sadness began to rise inside of him and it was manifesting into his music so he had to stop and set his harmonica down. They would pay, of that he was sure, he would help Wraith extract revenge upon those who harmed her and her child. Closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the bar around, Hilathic began to calm himself as he waited for Wraiths return.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 30, 2008 22:50:36 GMT -5
Excusing herself from the bar, intending to be gone for only a few moments, Wraith returns to her corner table. Tiredness has taken its toll upon the pale tiefling, but she seems relieved about something. "I've ordered a meal for each of us." She announces to Hilathic with a faint smile. "Breaded shrimp and potatoes in red sauce. My treat, since you're my guest."
Her smile soon fades, however. Noting the forced deeper breathing, and a brief flash of anger or sadness that flits across Hilathic's pale face, she moves closer to him and lays a gentle, if cold, hand upon his shoulder. "Is something the matter, basher?" She whispers.
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Post by Stix on May 8, 2008 14:44:26 GMT -5
Bertram returns with a large platter -- shrimp and potatoes, red sauce, mustard sauce, and green butter sauce, peppered soybeans and golden rice, stewed carrots in syrup, and shredded spinach.
"Enjoy. Need anything, just say so." With that, the stout man returns to his own meal at the bar.
(Fort saves, everybody. Just kidding.)
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