It's great to read Loghain's thoughts! Very well written! I really enjoyed seeing his point of view in your story!
Whispering Sighs of the Blade~ Chapter 23 is Up! I hope you enjoy!
Débuté par
Gilgamesh1138
, mai 12 2010 02:55
Retour en haut
#102
Posté 23 février 2011 - 08:45
LadyAly
-
- Members
- 2 149 messages
Wonderful to read as always - finally catched up again 
#103
Posté 23 février 2011 - 07:54
Gilgamesh1138
-
- Members
- 1 915 messages
Thanks guys! Really I do appreciate it. *HUGS both of you*
#104
Posté 07 juin 2011 - 12:11
erynnar
-
- Members
- 3 010 messages
Chapter 21 ~ Not Her~
This is told from the perspective of the prisoner in the cage at Ostagar.
You know, Maker, we don’t talk much. Never really had a lot in common, I suppose. But since I’m sittin’ here with nothin’ to do until the guard, Quigley—who turned out to be a right good chap, actually, who knew?—gets back on guard duty with me. I figured since you’re ignorin’ all us humans after what happened with your lady friend, you’d have nothing better to do, either. So here we are then.
You know, I hear everythin’ that goes on around here. Well, at least I do when the wind blows in the right direction, voices echo off of walls, or they come close enough to my humble abode. And speaking of wind, it has picked up! A storm’s coming. I can smell the rain in the air, and something else, something fetid and menacing.
Quigley and I had a long chat after she left. Yes, her, Kai. I won’t forget the name. How could I? It’s because of her that Quigley started feeding me, gave me fresh straw for the cage, and even gave me a blanket. I don’t know what she said to him to get him to hand over his meal, let alone his change in conscience. He told me I am to have a proper hearing after the battle is over, so I am not to be hanged outright.
She did that.
I don’t know what I’d hoped would happen when I motioned her over... what, was it really just a day ago? So hard to tell when the world rolls by you like a stream does a rock.
She sat on a bench with that young soldier. I had hoped she would pity me and help me stop the terrible aching of my empty stomach. I didn’t expect a champion. I pleaded my case and, instead of pity, I saw anger. Not anger at me, but for me.
I don’t know what the discussion entailed when the young man dragged her off to speak with her—despite her very vicious and determined look—other than it was about me, since she gestured in my direction. But she nodded and seemed to take comfort in his touch, which is a good thing.
There is something that haunts the edges of her eyes, Maker. And such pretty blue ones, too, set in a very pretty face, even covered as it is in that tattooin’ that them knife-ears do.
I have seen that same haunted look on my granda’s eyes when he spoke of the massacre of Gwaren by the Orlesians when he was a child. He was the only survivor of his family, saved by hiding under his dead mum and sister.
Something bad happened to that pretty miss. It’s good she has a good friend in that boy walkin’ around with her. I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye, Maker. And, really, I’d stop lying and stealin’ if you’d give me more reasons to prove that honesty is the best policy. But, for her, I’m askin’. She did right by me, did more than most would do, which is nothin’. They’d have looked at the cage and seen a man who was a criminal, nothin’ more, but not her.
Ah, Quigley’s back on shift with me tonight and it looks like I get not only some food, but beer as well. Sorry, Maker, a man should have his priorities, right?
One last thing... don’t let her fall in the battle, Maker. Not her. Please, not her.
This is told from the perspective of the prisoner in the cage at Ostagar.
You know, Maker, we don’t talk much. Never really had a lot in common, I suppose. But since I’m sittin’ here with nothin’ to do until the guard, Quigley—who turned out to be a right good chap, actually, who knew?—gets back on guard duty with me. I figured since you’re ignorin’ all us humans after what happened with your lady friend, you’d have nothing better to do, either. So here we are then.
You know, I hear everythin’ that goes on around here. Well, at least I do when the wind blows in the right direction, voices echo off of walls, or they come close enough to my humble abode. And speaking of wind, it has picked up! A storm’s coming. I can smell the rain in the air, and something else, something fetid and menacing.
Quigley and I had a long chat after she left. Yes, her, Kai. I won’t forget the name. How could I? It’s because of her that Quigley started feeding me, gave me fresh straw for the cage, and even gave me a blanket. I don’t know what she said to him to get him to hand over his meal, let alone his change in conscience. He told me I am to have a proper hearing after the battle is over, so I am not to be hanged outright.
She did that.
I don’t know what I’d hoped would happen when I motioned her over... what, was it really just a day ago? So hard to tell when the world rolls by you like a stream does a rock.
She sat on a bench with that young soldier. I had hoped she would pity me and help me stop the terrible aching of my empty stomach. I didn’t expect a champion. I pleaded my case and, instead of pity, I saw anger. Not anger at me, but for me.
I don’t know what the discussion entailed when the young man dragged her off to speak with her—despite her very vicious and determined look—other than it was about me, since she gestured in my direction. But she nodded and seemed to take comfort in his touch, which is a good thing.
There is something that haunts the edges of her eyes, Maker. And such pretty blue ones, too, set in a very pretty face, even covered as it is in that tattooin’ that them knife-ears do.
I have seen that same haunted look on my granda’s eyes when he spoke of the massacre of Gwaren by the Orlesians when he was a child. He was the only survivor of his family, saved by hiding under his dead mum and sister.
Something bad happened to that pretty miss. It’s good she has a good friend in that boy walkin’ around with her. I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye, Maker. And, really, I’d stop lying and stealin’ if you’d give me more reasons to prove that honesty is the best policy. But, for her, I’m askin’. She did right by me, did more than most would do, which is nothin’. They’d have looked at the cage and seen a man who was a criminal, nothin’ more, but not her.
Ah, Quigley’s back on shift with me tonight and it looks like I get not only some food, but beer as well. Sorry, Maker, a man should have his priorities, right?
One last thing... don’t let her fall in the battle, Maker. Not her. Please, not her.
Modifié par erynnar, 07 juin 2011 - 12:42 .
#105
Posté 07 juin 2011 - 12:12
erynnar
-
- Members
- 3 010 messages
Oops! Double post!
Modifié par erynnar, 07 juin 2011 - 12:13 .
#106
Posté 07 juin 2011 - 12:44
erynnar
-
- Members
- 3 010 messages
And yes, I neccro'd a thread, becasue when it comes to fanfiction and fanfiction posting only, I am Gilgamesh1138 because I started posting on hubby's stolen account before he bought me my own. Sorry for any confusion!
#107
Posté 27 juin 2011 - 05:05
erynnar
-
- Members
- 3 010 messages
Chapter 22 ~A Tale of Two Witches~
My mother sits on the branch next to me in owl form, like myself. It allows us to see in the
dark, not that we need it with all the torches and the fires from the battle.
It does not do to stare at Mother, but I cannot help but gape at her, for Mother revealed
another piece of her plan. And while ‘tis a small piece, the news was... disturbing, to say
the least. Mother and her “friend” wish for me to seduce one of the Grey Wardens and allow
them to get me with child sometime before the final blow to the Archdemon is struck. The soul
of the Old God within the dragon should go to the child upon the beast’s death blow.
The soul of a god in the body of a human, what kind of power would that be? But why Flemeth
and her demon should want such a dangerous being to be brought into the world, I know not.
‘Tis more vexing than the missing part of Mother’s plan which she will not reveal to me since
the bearded one and the rest of his kind are to die in battle—again, how Mother has foreseen
this, I know not, but she has been right more often than she has been wrong—my choices are the
dimwit or the fool cutpurse. ‘Tis hardly a choice at all.
If only the annoying female were a male, but if she had been, it would be certain that she too
would be as stupid and foolish as the other two. Wishing is a fool’s endeavor, time would be
better spent spitting into one hand and wishing in the other to see which fills up faster.
Such power that such a thing would create, surely it would be incalculable. Surely Flemeth
could not hope to control such a soul once it manifested itself into a human vessel? And such
power she has always sought for herself. Why let such power reside outside her direct control?
For, surely, the child would have its own mind.
‘Tis most aggravating. I know Mother has more planned, some angle, some aspect that I am
unable to see as of yet. But we may yet have time, Mother and I, to dance a while longer yet.
That is, if our plans for this night go well.
I am to fly behind Mother and once we reach the tower, I am to cast a spell to knock out the
Grey Wardens, and help clear out any of the darkspawn that will be there. Then I am, in wolf
form, to lead the flea bag mongrel that belongs to the female Warden—if she survives the tower
battle—back to our hut. Mother will follow with the Warden and her moron companions.
I would not bother with the cur, myself. ‘Tis not practical to my mind; the mutt will live or
die on its own strength. But Flemeth assures me its loss would cause the Warden too much
distress, and that it would interfere with their plans. Mine is not to question such, but to
do as I am told. If I have my way, that will not always be so.
How Flemeth knows there will be darkspawn at the tower, how she knows the King will fall by an
ogre, how she knows that there will be no aid from the other troops... I have learned not to
ask. It would only earn me a slap in the face or worse. I know it has to do with Mother’s
symbiotic friend, and her visits to the Black City.
And, because of that, I walk with caution. I will go along, but I am watching, looking for a
weakness in Mother’s plan. My part in this is more than being a prize mare for some stallion
at the county fair. I must not let Flemeth know.
I will have to be twice as clever and move much more quickly. No easy feat. This is Flemeth,
my mother, who is beyond the mere meaning of abomination. If the Chantry had any idea... but
they are simplistic fools, and I... I am not such a dullard as the Chantry seems to attract.
No, I shall bide my time. I shall see how useful this female Warden may yet be. She is brave
and smart. Brave enough to stare down Mother, and smart enough to know that Flemeth is more
than she appears to be. Yes, I think that the Warden will prove more useful than even Mother
realizes. It will be no easy feat. I must keep my monitoring of the Warden by magic a secret.
*************************************
I can feel Morrigan’s eyes upon me as we sit watching the battle below. Men, women, mabari,
and darkspawn all clash in a ringing of metal and screams.
The smell of blood would normally have my “partner” squirming in gleeful joy. But not tonight.
It slumbers for now. The enjoyment it took from the death I see now with my physical eyes, it
took from the reflections in the Hall of Smoking Mirrors in the Black City.
Such foresight takes much power. The Black City and its halls of the damned don’t readily give
up secrets or power. But if one has the patience, the wherewithal, the cold calculation, and
the willingness to wield one’s will as a sharp blade then such secrets can be wrested from its
iron-like grasp. So, my friend sleeps the slumber of its kind and delights in what others
would call nightmares and what it calls the dance of the void.
Never let it be said that Asha'bellanar has a lack of will. In that regard, Morrigan is indeed
my creation, mine own. She is as I made her to be.
Ah, yes, my daughter, if you had only seen the look on your face when I told of the plan to
steal the soul of an Old God. Even now, you plan and scheme to use this to your advantage. How
delightful. They say children are a reflection of their parents, little mirrors. And you are a
beautiful—if predictable—pane of glass, much like that mirror I smashed when you were small.
How quickly you turn your eyes away when I catch you watching me.
Yes, Morrigan, you will do well in implementing our plans. Especially while being allowed to
believe that there is a way out for you. Again, predictable.
The only one not so calculable is that female Warden. She remains beyond our reach to read in
the smoke and panes of the hall of screams. It is... disturbing. It has been many decades...
centuries? Or perhaps it is only days. Time does seem to flow by when one is as we are, since
we have been unsettled by anything.
I find the sensation to be intriguing, unsettling, and even a little amusing—my “companion” is
less amused. It is difficult for something to surprise us. This Warden, she is a source of
consternation.
How tasty.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons I have for saving her tonight. Well, and if I do not, the
Blight will surely destroy Ferelden as the men with her are incompetent fools—as men so often
are. Yes, this woman, is... something. She reminds me of myself as I was, so long ago. What is
that word? Ah yes, nostalgia, the twin of regret.
I wonder: will she let her regrets drown her? Or will she fall, and in falling, learn how to
fly? The precipice awaits her. And soon now the fall. It will be interesting to see if she
grows wings.
My mother sits on the branch next to me in owl form, like myself. It allows us to see in the
dark, not that we need it with all the torches and the fires from the battle.
It does not do to stare at Mother, but I cannot help but gape at her, for Mother revealed
another piece of her plan. And while ‘tis a small piece, the news was... disturbing, to say
the least. Mother and her “friend” wish for me to seduce one of the Grey Wardens and allow
them to get me with child sometime before the final blow to the Archdemon is struck. The soul
of the Old God within the dragon should go to the child upon the beast’s death blow.
The soul of a god in the body of a human, what kind of power would that be? But why Flemeth
and her demon should want such a dangerous being to be brought into the world, I know not.
‘Tis more vexing than the missing part of Mother’s plan which she will not reveal to me since
the bearded one and the rest of his kind are to die in battle—again, how Mother has foreseen
this, I know not, but she has been right more often than she has been wrong—my choices are the
dimwit or the fool cutpurse. ‘Tis hardly a choice at all.
If only the annoying female were a male, but if she had been, it would be certain that she too
would be as stupid and foolish as the other two. Wishing is a fool’s endeavor, time would be
better spent spitting into one hand and wishing in the other to see which fills up faster.
Such power that such a thing would create, surely it would be incalculable. Surely Flemeth
could not hope to control such a soul once it manifested itself into a human vessel? And such
power she has always sought for herself. Why let such power reside outside her direct control?
For, surely, the child would have its own mind.
‘Tis most aggravating. I know Mother has more planned, some angle, some aspect that I am
unable to see as of yet. But we may yet have time, Mother and I, to dance a while longer yet.
That is, if our plans for this night go well.
I am to fly behind Mother and once we reach the tower, I am to cast a spell to knock out the
Grey Wardens, and help clear out any of the darkspawn that will be there. Then I am, in wolf
form, to lead the flea bag mongrel that belongs to the female Warden—if she survives the tower
battle—back to our hut. Mother will follow with the Warden and her moron companions.
I would not bother with the cur, myself. ‘Tis not practical to my mind; the mutt will live or
die on its own strength. But Flemeth assures me its loss would cause the Warden too much
distress, and that it would interfere with their plans. Mine is not to question such, but to
do as I am told. If I have my way, that will not always be so.
How Flemeth knows there will be darkspawn at the tower, how she knows the King will fall by an
ogre, how she knows that there will be no aid from the other troops... I have learned not to
ask. It would only earn me a slap in the face or worse. I know it has to do with Mother’s
symbiotic friend, and her visits to the Black City.
And, because of that, I walk with caution. I will go along, but I am watching, looking for a
weakness in Mother’s plan. My part in this is more than being a prize mare for some stallion
at the county fair. I must not let Flemeth know.
I will have to be twice as clever and move much more quickly. No easy feat. This is Flemeth,
my mother, who is beyond the mere meaning of abomination. If the Chantry had any idea... but
they are simplistic fools, and I... I am not such a dullard as the Chantry seems to attract.
No, I shall bide my time. I shall see how useful this female Warden may yet be. She is brave
and smart. Brave enough to stare down Mother, and smart enough to know that Flemeth is more
than she appears to be. Yes, I think that the Warden will prove more useful than even Mother
realizes. It will be no easy feat. I must keep my monitoring of the Warden by magic a secret.
*************************************
I can feel Morrigan’s eyes upon me as we sit watching the battle below. Men, women, mabari,
and darkspawn all clash in a ringing of metal and screams.
The smell of blood would normally have my “partner” squirming in gleeful joy. But not tonight.
It slumbers for now. The enjoyment it took from the death I see now with my physical eyes, it
took from the reflections in the Hall of Smoking Mirrors in the Black City.
Such foresight takes much power. The Black City and its halls of the damned don’t readily give
up secrets or power. But if one has the patience, the wherewithal, the cold calculation, and
the willingness to wield one’s will as a sharp blade then such secrets can be wrested from its
iron-like grasp. So, my friend sleeps the slumber of its kind and delights in what others
would call nightmares and what it calls the dance of the void.
Never let it be said that Asha'bellanar has a lack of will. In that regard, Morrigan is indeed
my creation, mine own. She is as I made her to be.
Ah, yes, my daughter, if you had only seen the look on your face when I told of the plan to
steal the soul of an Old God. Even now, you plan and scheme to use this to your advantage. How
delightful. They say children are a reflection of their parents, little mirrors. And you are a
beautiful—if predictable—pane of glass, much like that mirror I smashed when you were small.
How quickly you turn your eyes away when I catch you watching me.
Yes, Morrigan, you will do well in implementing our plans. Especially while being allowed to
believe that there is a way out for you. Again, predictable.
The only one not so calculable is that female Warden. She remains beyond our reach to read in
the smoke and panes of the hall of screams. It is... disturbing. It has been many decades...
centuries? Or perhaps it is only days. Time does seem to flow by when one is as we are, since
we have been unsettled by anything.
I find the sensation to be intriguing, unsettling, and even a little amusing—my “companion” is
less amused. It is difficult for something to surprise us. This Warden, she is a source of
consternation.
How tasty.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons I have for saving her tonight. Well, and if I do not, the
Blight will surely destroy Ferelden as the men with her are incompetent fools—as men so often
are. Yes, this woman, is... something. She reminds me of myself as I was, so long ago. What is
that word? Ah yes, nostalgia, the twin of regret.
I wonder: will she let her regrets drown her? Or will she fall, and in falling, learn how to
fly? The precipice awaits her. And soon now the fall. It will be interesting to see if she
grows wings.
#108
Posté 02 juillet 2011 - 06:01
erynnar
-
- Members
- 3 010 messages
~Chapter 23~ Bedside Manner
We see the roguish cutpurse sitting on a stool next to the prone figure of Kaidana “Kai”
Cousland on a rickety looking wooden bed in an equally run down looking hut.
There are books on the floor and human skulls on a altar in the darker shadows where the light
from the fireplace does not penetrate. The air is dank, musty, herbal, and filled with the
heavy smell of smoke, dead soldiers and darkspawn both living and dead.
It is a day since the Battle of Ostagar was lost, along with Ferelden’s king, when the King’s
strategist and hero of the people quit the battlefield despite Kai and her group lighting the
beacon.
Kai was severely wounded as the tower was over run with darkspawn, taking several arrows. She
has remained unconscious since the previous day and the better part of the next, despite
healing potions and healing from a very powerful mage.
#-#-#
Come on, love, open those lovely blue eyes would ya? We’ve been waiting on you. And, quite
frankly, these witches have done right by us, healin’ us and all, but the old one gives me a
case of the scuzzies.
She’s got this look in her eyes, like lookin’ into a deep, dark pit. My da’s eyes looked like
that, the day he beat my mam to death in fit of rage. That cold, dark look that made the anger
of his actions even more frightening. I never told no one about that. It’s the same day I ran
away. Still somethin’ I can’t quite forgive myself for. I didn’t try and save her. I ran. I
don’t know if I could have, but I wish I’d tried. Maybe I’ll get to fix the books on that as a
Grey Warden, eh?
Speaking of Grey Wardens, our fellow Warden, Alistair, he made it, in case you didn’t hear him
when he’s talked to you. Well, I’m afraid if you don’t wake up soon, he’s goin’ to throw
himself into one of those ponds out there and drown himself. He is takin’ things a bit...
hard, shall we say?
That Morrigan is a right nice piece to to look at, bet she could take my mind off things—if I
didn’t think she wouldn’t freeze the gift to women the Maker gave me. It might be fun to find
out, as danger has its appeal, but I figure I might should stay human and out of the cooking
pot. Alas, no distraction there.
And wouldn’t ya know it? Dropped into a cabin full of books and me not bein’ able to read. I
can scratch my name in the dirt, but only because some right pretty fellow thief showed me
once after we had, well... let’s just say, come together, and leave it at that. But even if I
could read even a bit, those books smell funny and they give me the shivers just lookin’ at
‘em.
So I am lookin’ at something much better. And while you give me the shivers when I look at
you, it’s in a good way, love, I promise. Both witches assured us you’ll live, thank the Maker
and His Bride.
You are somethin’ else. I don’t know what to think of you. You are easy on the old eyes, and I
like to look. As you told me, I am an admirer of the female form. But there is somethin’ else
about you. Somethin’ the old bugger saw, I suspect... I... Duncan is... Okay, I can’t. I can’t
talk about it twice. He was more than my old da was. So, I’ll tell you when you wake up. I
won’t be able to get through it again.
Where was I, love? Oh, yeah, you. Noble with elven writing on yer face. You fight dirty just
like a cutpurse, and you can steal like one, too, yet you’ve never had a day of want in your
life, I bet. Yet you treat everyone the same when you should stick your nose up at me, lowly
thief and pickpocket that I am.
Yer clever and funny, and you fight like a demon. Don’t think we would have made it to the top
of the tower without you. Well, you need to fight and come back now, because, quite frankly,
as mopey as our friend has been, if you don’t come back, I might drown him myself. So, get
your very delightful backside back out of that bed and save me the trouble, won’t ya?
Ah, that lovely Morrigan just popped in, her nose in the air, mind you, to tell me the stew is
ready. I’d best get myself out there or I may find myself as tomorrow night’s dinner.
You know, I once heard a story by a travelin’ bard about a man who kissed a lass sleepin’
under a spell and it woke her up. Wonder if it will work? No? Ah, well, it was worth a try.
And at least ya can’t slap me for tryin’ now can you, darlin’? I assure you, it’s much more
enjoyable if you participate.
Well, I’m off, love. Be back soon with Alistair to try and spoon some food into you. But I
would really love to see those eyes open, so give it a go, will ya?
We see the roguish cutpurse sitting on a stool next to the prone figure of Kaidana “Kai”
Cousland on a rickety looking wooden bed in an equally run down looking hut.
There are books on the floor and human skulls on a altar in the darker shadows where the light
from the fireplace does not penetrate. The air is dank, musty, herbal, and filled with the
heavy smell of smoke, dead soldiers and darkspawn both living and dead.
It is a day since the Battle of Ostagar was lost, along with Ferelden’s king, when the King’s
strategist and hero of the people quit the battlefield despite Kai and her group lighting the
beacon.
Kai was severely wounded as the tower was over run with darkspawn, taking several arrows. She
has remained unconscious since the previous day and the better part of the next, despite
healing potions and healing from a very powerful mage.
#-#-#
Come on, love, open those lovely blue eyes would ya? We’ve been waiting on you. And, quite
frankly, these witches have done right by us, healin’ us and all, but the old one gives me a
case of the scuzzies.
She’s got this look in her eyes, like lookin’ into a deep, dark pit. My da’s eyes looked like
that, the day he beat my mam to death in fit of rage. That cold, dark look that made the anger
of his actions even more frightening. I never told no one about that. It’s the same day I ran
away. Still somethin’ I can’t quite forgive myself for. I didn’t try and save her. I ran. I
don’t know if I could have, but I wish I’d tried. Maybe I’ll get to fix the books on that as a
Grey Warden, eh?
Speaking of Grey Wardens, our fellow Warden, Alistair, he made it, in case you didn’t hear him
when he’s talked to you. Well, I’m afraid if you don’t wake up soon, he’s goin’ to throw
himself into one of those ponds out there and drown himself. He is takin’ things a bit...
hard, shall we say?
That Morrigan is a right nice piece to to look at, bet she could take my mind off things—if I
didn’t think she wouldn’t freeze the gift to women the Maker gave me. It might be fun to find
out, as danger has its appeal, but I figure I might should stay human and out of the cooking
pot. Alas, no distraction there.
And wouldn’t ya know it? Dropped into a cabin full of books and me not bein’ able to read. I
can scratch my name in the dirt, but only because some right pretty fellow thief showed me
once after we had, well... let’s just say, come together, and leave it at that. But even if I
could read even a bit, those books smell funny and they give me the shivers just lookin’ at
‘em.
So I am lookin’ at something much better. And while you give me the shivers when I look at
you, it’s in a good way, love, I promise. Both witches assured us you’ll live, thank the Maker
and His Bride.
You are somethin’ else. I don’t know what to think of you. You are easy on the old eyes, and I
like to look. As you told me, I am an admirer of the female form. But there is somethin’ else
about you. Somethin’ the old bugger saw, I suspect... I... Duncan is... Okay, I can’t. I can’t
talk about it twice. He was more than my old da was. So, I’ll tell you when you wake up. I
won’t be able to get through it again.
Where was I, love? Oh, yeah, you. Noble with elven writing on yer face. You fight dirty just
like a cutpurse, and you can steal like one, too, yet you’ve never had a day of want in your
life, I bet. Yet you treat everyone the same when you should stick your nose up at me, lowly
thief and pickpocket that I am.
Yer clever and funny, and you fight like a demon. Don’t think we would have made it to the top
of the tower without you. Well, you need to fight and come back now, because, quite frankly,
as mopey as our friend has been, if you don’t come back, I might drown him myself. So, get
your very delightful backside back out of that bed and save me the trouble, won’t ya?
Ah, that lovely Morrigan just popped in, her nose in the air, mind you, to tell me the stew is
ready. I’d best get myself out there or I may find myself as tomorrow night’s dinner.
You know, I once heard a story by a travelin’ bard about a man who kissed a lass sleepin’
under a spell and it woke her up. Wonder if it will work? No? Ah, well, it was worth a try.
And at least ya can’t slap me for tryin’ now can you, darlin’? I assure you, it’s much more
enjoyable if you participate.
Well, I’m off, love. Be back soon with Alistair to try and spoon some food into you. But I
would really love to see those eyes open, so give it a go, will ya?
Modifié par erynnar, 02 juillet 2011 - 06:49 .
