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

War Dreams, Chapter 2

Siarah sat there in a fine fettle, her chin cushioned by her fist upon her knees. Hours passed and still she sat, her mind far away, straining to make sense of the calling given to her. So deeply she mulled her thoughts that even the sticky dew or the warm glow of dawn's first rays through the darkness of night did not stir her from her reverie.

High above, a lone raven circled the aftermath of the carnage, watching the lass as she meditated. She had become a fixture to the feast, a curiosity at first and now a fascination. His fascination was not his alone. His entire realm was developing an unhealthy relationship with her, guarding her home as she slept; monitoring her while she waited in the shadows of the fights, alerting him to her needs and distresses.

His obsession was increasing with every visit she made to the battlefields; slowly she was becoming the prized gem that he coveted. He was even becoming jealous of the dream person that she sought, wishing to be the one that filled her dreams as she slumbered. Irritated at his thoughts, the king gave a mighty CAW as he floated in the cool morning air. Yet, instead of joining his flock as he should, the king landed in a pine tree not far from Siarah.

Another one was in the tree as well, the fair princess of Cloidthe, of the Northern Forest, and the closest friend of Siarah. To look upon this maiden was like watching a flower blossom from its dewy bud into a breathtaking flower. Her golden hair waved around her face, a single band of copper laid upon her head denoting her office. Her tan skin flushed in the cool air, and she turned to acknowledge the Raven King. "We meet again, Sir" before turning her worried eyes upon her friend. Quiet settled between the two for a few moments before the princess spoke again, "She is starting to worry me, I fear what will happen if she does not find this man soon, and at the same time I fear what changes this man will bring if she does.”

The Raven King did not speak for a long time, his dark eyes watching the princess, for she was truly beautiful, but not like Siarah. Meolin was the most delicate of fine porcelain where Siarah was the tough metal flagon that whets a man's thirst. "She has sought him for over three years. Her hope is starting to weaken, look upon her now, and see. Be the loyal friend she needs, and do not tarry too long in these lands."

Meolin nodded her head at the king's wise words and made her way down the tree, her bare feet finding easy purchase upon the wide branches and her agile acrobats quickly landed her beside her friend. Together the women sat for a while, held tightly to one another in comfort. As Siarah started to relax, Meolin stood, and guided her friend away from the carnage of man. The two slipped slowly into the dawning mists, and out of the sight of the Raven Kings protective watch.

That night, the dreams took a new turn. The sounds of battle louder than ever, causing Siarah to toss and turn upon her lofty bed of moss, crying in fear of the horrible slaughter happening. She could hear the swords clang and the grunts of men, their war cries loud upon the air. Siarah could take no more and sat straight up in her bed, looking about in a sleepy fog. She shook her head trying to get the sounds of the night to banish from her mind, but the sounds remained, echoing in the lass's chamber. Wrapping a thick blanket around her, Siarah slid off her bed and padded to the opening of the cavern that she called home. In the night, the war had landed upon her doorstep and she watched the many dances of death with a morbid fascination. Slowly, body after body succumbed to exhaustion or the skill of the opponent, until only a handful of wounded men stood, leaning against heavy bastard swords, and breathing in the night air in huge gulps. One man started up a warrior’s cheer, one that burned the last of his adrenaline and cited their victory in this battle. Another man echoed the cry and soon all those left were adding in their voices. It was like watching a pack of wolves braying to the moon.

As the group of warriors left the area, carrying what wounded they could, Siarah waited, watching the sky for the ravens. She knew they would come, and it did not seem right to step out into the field without the presence of the raven's King. When he was around, she felt safer on the field of the dead. Therefore, she stood there, watching over the dead through the last of the night until the dawn breached the skyline, and the sounds of the birds drew close. The king flew right to her doorway as if he knew right where she was, and landed at her feet. "Your princess worries, Siarah. Let my birds search the field as we work. You stand guard with me, keep this old king company, and tell me what is so important of this man. Why is he more than all your friends and family, who you have refused join. What answers do you think will be filled by finding him?" The king was quite serious, and for the first time, Siarah felt compelled to stay and share with the king. She nodded her head, the sleep tousled hair bouncing with the nod. "Let your ravens seek."

ScumFlash: Cipio usurps Oak as backup Battlemonkey

Poor Oak suffered so much abuse from the hands of AAylia that he wasn't able to perfrom his duties as backup Battlemonkey anymore. Come to think of it... this is the SECOND time she broke Oak... Damn you AA!!! One day I'll figure out what to do with you and rid the guild of your evil presence forever!!!

...

*chirping crickets*

...

Ehr.. right...Welcome to CipiO as new backup  Battlemonkey. When either AAylia or Hym fail to hit the battlebutton in time, he should be alert enough to step in for them and make sure we Always have someone to fight! Let's just hope he is better suited to resist AA's temptations and schemes then Oak was...

I promised Ghettoforce I would start writing again. So what I am going to do is take an old story I started in NanoWritMo, and complete it. Feel free to comment, edit, make fun or help guide the story along with ideas and input. It makes the writing more fun when I get this feedback. We will see if I can complete this story that I once started.

War Dreams, Chapter 1

The sounds of war were fading into the setting sun. The settling dust coating the blood soaked bodies of the dead, their glazed eyes left ever staring into the heavens. Moans, a sad wail, pleas to a far-off lover broke the silence, but eventually all was quiet.

Fog seeped through the bloody grasses to envelop the bodies in a damp shroud. The flit of many wings grew louder as the ravens came to perform their duties to their Gods, to carry the deeds of these warriors to the heavens. As the flock landed amongst the dead and dying, a figure stepped out from her hiding spot. Barely larger than a man’s hand, her clothing was made of soft spider webs that clung to her slender body. The sharp contrast of her raven-black hair made her skin all the paler in the shadows of the evening. In her hand, she carried a spear fashioned from a silver fork, stolen from the world of man many months ago.

Perched upon the hilt of a sword thrust into the ground, the largest of the ravens sat, not partaking with his brethren in the feast offered by the carnage. Grey feathers marked his crown and though his once bright eyes clouded with age, his mind was sharp as ever.

“Again you prowl through the dead Siarah?” the raven cawed, “You will never find that what you seek! It was a dream! Go home and be away from these sights! Be away from that which is our due!”

The woman stood firm, her chin jutting out in a silent show of anger, her green eyes snapping in ire at the bird. “Tease me as you will, but I know in my heart that I have to find the man. He is critical to the future of all our worlds”.

Wings spread wide as he took to the air, the Raven King laughed, his words fading as he flew to oversee his flock “Critical? Men only destroy young one. Even when they create, they destroy. Look upon the ruin they have brought to themselves, you will fare no better if you persist in this fool’s errand… leave this place like the rest of your kind”.

In spite of the old raven’s warning, Siarah searched among the fallen, careful not to disturb any that might be feasting. As the bird had said, it had been a dream, but it was a dream that had occurred every night since the human war claimed the lands of her home. Such a dream must have meaning, must be prophetic and so it was her duty to see it through.

The memory of the dream she had come to know so well over the course of the last three years night’s was clear: a powerfully built man with bright blond hair and freckled skin, he would fall in battle and she would find him. She would know him by the mighty sword that he wields – A sword so large that two hands strained to swing it. Three red rubies were nestled into the pommel of the hilt with a gold inlay of three birds twisting their flight around the gems. Somehow, she knew that in this, there was hope for her homeland.

Silently, she moved from body to body between the pools of blood already congealing in the open air. The ravens were efficient though, and all too often eyeless faces stared soullessly into the night. Long after the birds were gone, she searched until every one of the dead was examined.

Frustrated, the tiny fae moved to rest on a mushroom peeking from the edge of the forest; another battle whose end she had witnessed, and yet still the prophecy remained unfulfilled. Doubt filled her, “Perhaps it was as the raven king stated - only a dream?”