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Board's Plot: Blood Rites
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Scelt is a Territory in turmoil and peace is tenuously held together by the Sceltic Queens. Rivalry between the Clans errupted into horror for the Territory that resulted in many dead, on both sides, and culimated in Clan Sheane being outlawed in the Territory. Further troubles plague the Territory in a variety of manners - Landen villages are raided, Courts are attacked, and no one seems to be safe.
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Author Topic: Who will mourn me when I'm gone?  (Read 276 times)

Description: attn: Adam and anyone in Athol who might wanna hop in?

Offline Aeron Clery

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Who will mourn me when I'm gone?
« on: Sep 03, 19, 06:35:46 PM »
((My favorite rendition of this song done here:  ))

Aeron hummed a soft little tune that had been stuck in the back of his mind for the last several days.  Not the worst song to plague him as an earwig, a saucy little tune he overheard from a travelling performer the other evening in the village tavern.  The premise of the song started out rather sad for the subject, a young girl eager to marry only to find out that her father’s wilder youth resulted in her being half related to all the eligible men in the village.  In desperation, she went to her mother to seek her wisdom and the end result…

He chuckled to himself.  It was a very clever little song and the final refrain had him grinning widely.  He didn’t often go out of late, preferring the quiet of his own rooms to the ramunteous and loud noises of the local tavern but he had been feeling a little closed in and truth be told, on such a popular night to be out, he had rather hoped to encounter someone there.  Not just any someone, he wouldn’t dare risk such a venture so close to his home, but if the Mother smiled on him for once, he might find Adam like minded to enjoy a night of drink and entertainment.

The Warlord Prince had been plaguing his thoughts for weeks now, ever since he had wandered into his shop looking for lavender and that business venture had led to several more meetings - all related to work.  Not that he would even have a breath of courage to broach any other kind of meeting.  No, he would do just fine keeping his little infatuation where it decidedly needed to remain in the back of his mind.

Closing the door to his shop behind him, he called up a soft globe of witchlight to illuminate the still dark storefront.   Late in the evening he had received a shipment and instead of staying late, he decided to get in a good night sleep and tackle the unpacking and sorting of the supplies in the morning before opening.  It was peaceful and quiet and in these days a bit cooler before the sun rose and the heat and humidity, which was great for plants but draining for him, spiked.   He carefully removed seedlings that had been specially packed to survive the trip, grateful for the extra expense he had provided to have them expedited instead of arriving with the usual traveling caravan.  If he was successful in cultivating this species of plant in Scelt’s difficult soils, he could save himself vastly over the coming year in shipping costs and his clientele who appreciate this particular herb for their Craft would certainly appreciate the savings to their own pockets.  Overhead was a necessity to stay in business and while most of his regular clients understood this, haggling with an irritated Black Widow about money was certainly a dangerous preoccupation.

Using a little Yellow Craft from his Birthright, he carefully transported the seedlings to the new greenhouse that he had set up behind his shop and home.  Being from Nharkava, they would require a steady special climate to continue to flourish, the right blend of heat, light, moisture and nutrients.  If he was very very careful, this could be a great turning point for his business.  He might even be able to generate enough profit to afford to purchase and renovate a larger building.  There was an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of the village with plenty of land.  He could expand his services and maybe even take on a few employees.   A shiver of giddy excitement slid down his spine and his feet did a little skipping dance as he hummed a little louder and carefully placed the seedling container down on the beaten table that he used as a staging point.   The preservation spells would hold for a few more hours at least, long enough for him to add the final nutrients to the soil before planting them.

Switching his tune from the saucy maiden’s story to something a little more bravado, he whistled to himself as he went back to fetch one of the large heavy bags of fertilizer, lifting it with more muscle than craft.  He wasn’t a big man but he was strong and it felt good to do a little arm work before the day began.   It wasn’t until he went back for the second bag to take to the other greenhouse that he noticed the door to his shop had opened.   Aeron cocked his head curiously but shrugged it off.  He had thought he had closed the door firmly but it wouldn’t be the first time that he didn’t listen for the tell-tale click and a good breeze pushed it open.   His hand had just touched the lock for the door when a sound behind him had him jumping.

Turning, four figures crept from the shadowed corners of the shop, aided by the fact that now accustomed to the darkness, he hadn’t bothered to bring the ball of witchlight along with him.  Despite the very clear recognition that he was in trouble, he gave a light airy tone to his voice when he said, “I appreciate any devoted admirer to horticulture gentlemen, but even my shop isn’t quite open yet.  Come back in a few hours and I’ll be glad to assist  you in anything you need to find.”

“We don’t want any of your pansy little flowers,” said one man gruffly with a voice that seemed vaguely familiar to Aeron’s ears.  Of course, he had grown up with men who always sounded as if they had garbled gravel in the morning so that wasn’t surprising.   The thought about his family though had his senses on alert however.  “Oh, well if you are looking for herbs of a more potent variety, I don’t traffic in those.  I do know a lovely Black Widow who might have some of what you need.”   A rough cough of a laugh had his eyes flickering over to the largest figure who stepped forward into a patch of moonlight enough to make out most of his features.  Aeron’s stomach hit the floor as he looked up into the scarred and roughened face of a man he had really hoped never to see again.

“Hello there little bug,” was the greeting that in any other context might have sounded almost endearing.  It most certainly was not.

“Seamus, interesting to find you this far inland.  I didn’t think you ever came off the water,” he said, his voice chilling in an effort to hide his own fear.  There would only be one reason Seamus would come this far away from his father’s lands and more importantly his father’s boats.  “Did Da send ye?”

The other man snorted, “Now why would he send me after a dead man?  Cause that’s what you are ye know?  Dead.  Pronounced before Clan and Kin just this fall season past.  Better a dead memory than a living embarrassment.  And that was bein just fine.  We didna want you anyway.  You were never more than a barnacle on your father’s backside.  Mighta been more useful that ye were born a woman instead of simply behavin like one.”   Aeron flinched at the remark.  It didn’t hurt him to know he was declared dead, that bit of news was actually a relief.   No it was the latter comment that reopened old wounds of a small boy who never was enough man to please his father and when he became suspicious about Aeron’s other behaviors.

“So I’m dead, glad for it actually.  So thanks for the news, and you can be on your way…”

“See though, we get words from other Clery at times, and they be sayin there’s this Clery out in Athol who likes to stick his hands in the filthy dirt and who has the look of the Capt’n about him.  That there is no good, cause see he’s draggin the Cap’n’s honorable name through the mud and having the gall to still use the name of Clery…”

“Plenty of Clery’s out this way.  Clan Laird is hereby,” Aeron began and as blindsided by a blow of Craft that knocked him to the ground and sliding across the floor until his head hit the far wall.  Dazzles dashed in front of his eyes as he watched the other man crouch down in front of him.

“Shut ye mouth, and speakin the name of that thief what rightly stole what should have been ye… the Capn’s place.  Sea and surf should wipe him straight off the map if there was justice.  Nothing but a weak lot of land loving mistakes.   How your mother who birthed proud and strong men of Clery could have produced a mewling little shrimp like you…”   Aeron wiped something from the corner of his eye that might have been blood if he was lucky.   It didn’t surprise him, this was the same argument he had heard his whole life.   The weak, pathetic, non-sea loving son of the greatest sailor to ever launch a fleet...yadda yadda ya.

“You may have scurried like a coward inland but I am tired of the stink of you.  So we come to make an honest man out of the Capn’s declaration.”   Aeron’s head still swam with the force of the impact so he didn’t even notice the two men who had swept up to him and hauled him to his feet.  He struggled against their grips, but strong that he was, he certainly was not up to their calibur.   Semus walked up and grabbed a hold of his hair, pulling at the scalp hard enough to make his head jerk back so he looked straight up at the taller man.

“Ye should be happy, we’ll bury you right with all them green things you love so much.  You ground folk time love a good fertilizer, and for good measure, we’ll plant you face down so somethin can grow right out of ye arse.”  He leaned forward and Aeron almost gagged for the stench of fish and unwash.  “Would be sumtin I reckon you enjoy, if you weren’t already dead.”   Aeron lashed out with a blast of Summer Sky with enough suddenness that it caused his captors to loosen their grip and he took off running.   There was a back gate to his yard and if he could clear it, he could lose the lot of them in the dark of the woods.  He hadn’t vaulted a fence since his youngster years but adrenaline and panic were incredible sources of fuel when needed.   

Fear wanted him to look back to see if he had enough of a lead on his pursuers but common sense told him to keep his eyes forward and on his goal.  He knew the layout and they didn’t and that would buy him precious seconds to…

A blast of something hit him square in the back, sending him flying forward into the dirt and when he tried to move his legs refused to listen.  He lifted himself up on his elbows and tried to crawl away but something pressed down into his back, ripping a scream from his throat as firey pain raced through him.   Something hard and rough hit him in the face, cutting off his scream and leaving him gasping for air as another something - and he finally recognized the shape of a hard leather boot- connected with his ribs.  Blow after blow to his sides, his head began to drain away at his efforts to stay awake.

He should have known this day would come, he hadn’t expected to live out his decision to leave the iron stronghold that was his father and had been surprised by the years of relative peace since.  As his vision began to darken and the world slipped away, he felt almost relieved.  The Priestesses said that the Darkness knew the entirety of a person and in the Darkness all the Blood were the same.  Maybe now he might find some peace and maybe even acceptance for who he was and who he loved.

His last thought was of Adam.  Would he come looking for him?  Would they even make an effort to hide their crime or leave the horror for the first person to come see.   Would Adam just assumed he had left in the night for whatever mysterious reason without a second thought?

I should have kissed him, he thought tiredly.  Even if he rejected me, at least I could die knowing if his lips were really as soft as they looked.

Offline Adam Rhyne

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Re: Who will mourn me when I'm gone?
« Reply #1 on: Sep 06, 19, 03:44:52 PM »
Adam was not giddy.

He definitely did not feel bubbleheaded or silly. Nor impulsively whimsical. The feeling that writhed within his guts and wrapped its tendrils around his heart was a roiling amalgamation of anticipation, joy, and caution – anticipation matched with expectation of what was to come shortly, joy in the hopes of a promise, and caution because…

Because even though they had spent other times in each that wonderful company, neither of them was ready to take the step that both of them seemed to want.

Initially telling himself to be bold like oregano had changed its flavor closer to something more subtle. And definitely wasn’t helping! Adam knew that he could be shy about approaching someone else romantically but…but it seemed like the signs were all there! And he was a fairly grounded individual so he was almost certain that he was not misunderstanding Aeron’s intentions. They simply just…hadn’t broached the subject!

Yet, as he rode towards Aeron’s shop, intending to be there right as it opened, he was still unable to come up with a plan to remedy that. Remaining in this awkward limbo was…awkward. They’d have to change it! If this sort of thing had been him courting a Queen – well, Protocol made that clear: the Queen made the first move to let the male know his advances were welcomed.

Unfortunately, Protocol had nothing to say on this.

Adam was still mulling over how to approach this situation when he arrived and… wait…what…

Why was the front door kicked in?

Was that…the front garden! And the sign! They were ruined! And there was glass everywhere!

Was that…blood?

Initially, he had numbly dismounted, shocked. As his brain tried to process what he was seeing (why would anyone ruin Aeron’s shop?!), the moment he saw the blood splatters, panic flared bright and searing within him.


As he rushed, unshielded, unarmed, through the ransacked and ruined store, the blood trail guided him towards the back of the shop, through the shattered greenhouses and uprooted plants. “Aeron!” Adam screamed. No! No, why would this happen! The longer the silence persisted, the longer no familiar voice called back to him, the greater Adam’s panic churned, until what had previously been giddiness now soured into nauseating dread.


Wild-eyed, the Rose Warlord crashed through the back door to find…to find…

Oh, no.



The bricks of the walkway bruised his knees as he fell to the ground next to the prone herbalist. He was pale from blood loss and didn’t answer, even when Adam shook him, but…

He was breathing.

Madly, Adam looked around for…for…anything! Anything to help! He didn’t have any salves and basic Healing Craft wasn’t going to fix this…and…what to do! What to do! He hooked his arms under Aeron’s shoulders and tried to drag him a few feet but that was going to take Craft. And what if he moved Aeron and hurt him even more?

Gathering his Rose quickly to him, in a hysterical rush, Adam screamed, **SOMEBODY HELP!**