War Dreams, Chapter 4

Siarah is an enigma. Man started creeping into the land of her clan for years now, and the clan accepted it, tucking themselves deeper into their recesses, and interacting with man as they saw fit. Now, man wanted it as theirs along with other men. White men with red hair fought against darker skinned, darker haired men. The darker men were savages without armor, fighting with primitive tools and winning at this battle. They used magic as their weapons. They weakened the paler men with their spells. The army, led by the man who wielded the sword of gems, was slowly being decimated. This was not quite a good thing.

Despite their greed, the paler humans cared for the earth and accepted those who were not like them – the fae in all their shapes. The paler humans wanted the land, but they wanted the land fertile and bountiful. They were aware of over burdening the land, which is why their continual greed for the land grew. They were worse than the rats and rabbits in their ability to reproduce.

The darker savages raped the lands that they called theirs. They took the harvests and did not feed the soils. They took the magic of the air and earth and did not wait for it to replenish. The lands they claimed turned dark and dead, their people hungry and mewling for more. They did not understand or care to understand, how to repair the earth. They saw the lush lands of the paler men and coveted it. They fought, bringing dead to life, sucking the forces from the trees, air, and even the magical beings of the land.

This is why Siarah’s clan had left the area. They sought to protect the dwindling numbers of their family. They sought shelter in the other lands left untouched. Even those were becoming overloaded, a draw on the resources. They would not be able to stay here forever.

Yet, Siarah stay when her family fled the land for safety. She stayed because of a dream she swears the spirits sent to her. She watched the battles from the sidelines, not knowing he watched over her. She never flinched or turned away from the damage man wrought upon each other or the land. She studied every face that came before her, and every one of the men upon the fields. Gregeori knew that when she got home from the forays that she would throw up, and cry for hours. She was not as strong as she showed outside of her cavern. How he wished that she would go now, now that her part of the dream was fulfilled, go back to her family. Even as he wished that, his gut clenched. His mind screamed "Mine! MY jewel!"

He clenched his hands and clenched his teeth. How he wished that he were the one resting where that orb lay. Finally, the dawn came, and Gregeori shifted into his raven form, hopping to the bed for one last look. With the orb and the weapon found, he guessed that would be the last time he would see her. He plucked out a feather and laid it on her pillow, hoping that she would see it, and take it with her on her journey to her family. He hoped that she would not forget him. Finally, he steeled himself, knowing she would wake soon, and with a final glance, he took off, out of the small cavern and into the air. He refused to look back, not even to see if she followed him.

War Dreams, Chapter 3

A smallish raven, probably one of the lowest in the flock by the amount of lost feathers and exposed, scarred skin; hopped in front of the Raven King. The raven bobs its head, talking to the king in the language of birds. The cawing, which is all Siarah heard, translated roughly to "We have found the man, a powerfully built man, the mighty sword with three red gems found in his hand." The little raven hops from one foot to the next in its excitement of delivering the word to its king. "The others allowed me to carry its soul to you" With these words the raven looked like it was about to burst as a round object made its way up its throat, and the bird regurgitated a glowing copper ball upon the graveled ground by Siarah.

Utter astonishment crosses Siarah's face, and then dismay as she looks upon the ball at her feet. Not touching the object, she whispers, "He was dead? What am I to do with this? The dream never showed me this!"

"Dreams do not always show everything my dear" The King cawed, trying to be gentle, but in his heart, he was glad that the man was not man at this point. "If I recall, the dream you told me about simply had you seeking the man during the war. You fulfilled that in the last three years, and you stood here watching the battle in which he perished. You have found him. Now, lass, will you leave these lands? Will you join your people once again?"

Siarah still stared at the ball; a line of wetness etched her tired face, a silent mourning. Quietly she picks up the coppery orb, amazed that it is warm under her hands. She looks pensively into the swirling lights and feels herself start to drift. She had fallen in love with the man in her dreams, seeing that he and her would save the lands and bring back her people. That together they could reunite man and fae again. She mourned not only his passing, but also the future she had built up in her heart and mind.

The raven king, seeing the lass start to slip into the orb without realizing the danger, pushes at her hands with his beak "Whoa now! Dangerous trip you were about to make. Do not look into its lights; you will not like the results!" This startles the small fae, and the ball rolls out of her fingers back to the ground. “To look so deeply into the orb of a soul, will cause you to travel to that soul. You will stay trapped there, trapped until the ravens deliver the orb safely to the Summerland. Your body would be a shell, left to rot without you there to protect it, and you would not be able to pass into Summerland, nor back to these lands. You would not even be a ghost.”

Siarah looks at the orb that was resting before her toes, and wipes away the tears on her face. She looks up at the mighty king, whose bird size is a few inches taller. “I will not look into the orb, not without someone there to protect me.” The king looked satisfied, and leans over to preen gently at the little woman. He stands guard beside her to watch the battlefield, his ravens, and what he is starting to deem as his – Siarah.

When the ravens have left to complete their otherworldly tasks, Siarah took the coppery ball into the cavern. Her little hands could barely wrap around the orb, and it swirled in warm eddies upon her palms. Lying back down upon her mossy bed, she studied the orb, ever so careful to keep her mind shielded. Soon she drops back to sleep, weary from the activities of the night.

Outside, without her knowledge, the Raven King has flown back, shifting to his human form and then using his magic to adjust his shape to match the small fae’s size. Slipping into her cavern, no further than the door, Gregeori gives a silent sigh and sits with his back against the wall. He has been doing this almost nightly, ever since the war of man moved closer and closer to Siarah's abode.

Gregeori scowls at the orb that rested on a mossy pillow beside her. How he wished that man had never graced the lands near Siarah. His human form is almost alien to him; he stares at his bare feet wondering what Siarah sees in the man within the orb. The human male body is not that well built. It is gangly with long awkward bones and so many soft areas to protect. Nothing for warmth either. No wonder clothing was so important. How man can lift heavy weapons, don clothing of metal is beyond his concept. The ravens dined upon the dead, taking their souls to the Summerland. There was no need for the metals left behind.

ScumFlash: We needs more slogans!

Remember this? http://scumbase.blogspot.nl/2012/07/scumflash-making-up-our-own-damn-rules.html

This month's theme is up a few days late ... oops.  I'd like to thank Ciciz for the inspiration as well as Aaylia for February's bit of brilliancy.

I'm looking for some more slogans for The Scumbase .. Ghettoboss likes it when I have to bend my brain around a concept that you've come up with.  I picture him sitting back in his gold throne with his feet resting upon Alyxyn, whom he has forced to be his coffee table, drinking something horrid and giggling.  There's also scratching, belching and passing of gas involved, but I'm not sure if its Alyxyn or Ghetto.

Even though I'd like to think I'm a bottomless well of creativity, the truth is that a number of you have provided cleverness and I've simply wrapped graphics around your words, ideas or deeds.   If I haven't used something you've previously suggested, its because I don't yet have a good idea how to present it .. or may not ever - quotes from Snakes on a Plane don't tend to lend themselves to subtlety.

I'd love it if you'd apply your own twisted sense of fun to our monthly graphic header .. give us a slogan we can use, remembering that we have to keep it fairly short for it to work. I'd like to work with the Round One Memes, phrases, sound-alike words also work.

Thanks for your help!

Io